


Here and Now

by AuroraNova



Series: The Normal Series [5]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:53:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraNova/pseuds/AuroraNova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The continuing story of Jack and Daniel's post SG-1 lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Like the previous installments this was originally posted to my LiveJournal in 2010. 
> 
> Standard disclaimer: I own nothing and am not making a cent.

Jack got the heads-up from Teal’c that the mess hall had banana bread. Since that treat never lasted long, he made it a priority to go get a piece. He met Sam in the hall, holding a slice of banana bread with a bite missing. She was humming to herself – one of those sappy 80s love ballads, Jack was pretty sure.

“Someone had a good anniversary,” he said by way of greeting.

“That obvious?”

“Humming.”

“Ah.” She blushed a tiny bit, the deflected with, “It was great. And if I’m not mistaken, I’m not the only one with an anniversary coming up.”

“In a few weeks. Is the banana bread good?”

“Of course. I’ve got an experiment running…”

“See you later.”

She nodded and headed towards the elevator. Jack gave her five minutes, tops, before she started humming again. Good for her and Eddie.

He secured himself one of the thicker slices of banana bread. “It never fails,” remarked Airman Rains to the new guy, whose name escaped Jack. “Every time there’s banana bread, within ten minutes of Teal’c leaving, the rest of SG-1 comes in.”

Since he doubted that he was supposed to have heard that, Jack pretended he didn’t. SG-1 had a thing about banana bread. It had started on P4X-347 while they were weaning themselves off that addictive radiation from the damned light show. Daniel had mentioned wanting banana bread, and before they could go home all of them wanted banana bread. So one morning a few days after they got back Teal’c had let them know first thing that banana bread was available, and that had become a tradition.

In the nearest corner the members of SG-27 were debating the relative merit of Vegemite and Marmite. Jack once tried Marmite when he was in Britain, and he was far from a picky eater, but that was nasty stuff. He’d stick with the banana bread, thanks.

Daniel entered, reading a printout of some kind. Jack didn’t know anyone else who could walk and read as easily as his lover managed it.

“Jack, look at this!”

He found himself holding the printout and trying to make sense of it while Daniel grabbed banana bread. “What exactly am I looking at?”

“Possibly the next really important archaeological find,” said Daniel, as though that explained everything. The printout was clearly in some kind of code.

“This isn’t gonna be about big honkin’ guns, is it?”

Daniel didn’t even reply to that. “See this?” He was clearly excited, pointing to an area on the map with lots of lines close together.

“I _see_ it. I don’t know what it _means_.”

“It’s the topographical survey from P2Z-048. The closer the lines, the higher the elevation.”

“Ah,” he said with a nod. If Daniel had mentioned that it was a topographical map earlier, he’d have gotten it. “It’s a high point.”

“Not just any high point. I think it’s a partially buried pyramid!”

Now he understood his boyfriend’s excitement. “You think it has more Goa’uld gadgets than ours.”

“It’s entirely possible. Of course, we’ll need to get the MALP footage first. Just think of what an abandoned pyramid could teach us, Jack.”

Offhand, Jack was having a bit of trouble coming up with anything special except new toys, but he knew better than to say that. Instead he remarked, “Let’s hope they didn’t clean house first.”

Daniel frowned slightly but continued, “Even then, the pyramid itself, along with art, can tell us a great deal.”

“Let me know when you get the footage,” he said, recognizing that Daniel was itching to get back to his office and his mental archaeology world.

“I will.”

“And Daniel?”

“Yes?”

“Remember to taste the banana bread.”

* * *

 

It was three days before Daniel got the MALP footage he’d been waiting for, and he  was surveying it, a little bit unhappy that he was forced to choose between two different and equally fascinating dig sites. Rationally, he understood that  SGC had limited resources, but that didn't mean he'd have to like it. This was nothing personal - and certainly nothing he'd hold against Jack - but it still irked him. 

He was strongly leaning towards the pyramid on P2Z-048. Or at least, he was 95% certain it was a pyramid. That was a dig he would personally join in, at least for part of it. The possible finds were tantalizing, but then on the other hand there was the site with hints that it had Scandinavian ties which could mean Asgard…

When the phone rang, he paused the footage but his mind was still half on the dilemma. "Hello?"

"Dr. Daniel Jackson?" asked an unfamiliar voice.

"Yes."

"Melbourne and Claire's son?"

That got his full attention. "Yes. And you are?"

"Dr. Fred Saunders. You're a hard man to track down. I had to talk to five Air Force representatives before they connected me. I knew your parents, and I recently found a photo of them. I've been going through things - cancer, not much time left, you know - and anyway, it occurred to me you might want this."

Daniel wished his parents had taken more family photos, but he had one of him at age six with both of his parents smiling over a coin he'd found. It hung on the wall in his study at home. He had precious little that had belonged to his parents, but he had a few things which were special to him: a treasured set of archaeological tools, some books, his paternal grandfather's pocketwatch, which his father had been fond of, and his mother's favorite necklace. 

"I really would," he told Dr. Saunders. 

"We were in the PhD program together," explained his parents' old acquaintance. "I was a year or two ahead of your parents. Anyway, we were on a dig near the Sudanese border in Egypt when your father proposed to your mother. I took this picture when they got back to the camp, both smiling ear-to-ear, and your mom was showing off her ring. We kept in touch until…” Saunders coughed. “Anyway, that dig must've been, let's see, '60 or so."

“I’d love to have it,” he said sincerely. “And I’m very sorry to hear about your cancer.”

“Ah, I’ve had a good run. Where should I send the picture?”

He gave his home address, and Dr. Saunders repeated it back to make sure he’d heard correctly. “Right then, I’ll get this out to you.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate all the trouble you went through to find me.”

“Oh, I know your parents would’ve done the same. Mind you, your mother probably would’ve done it a decade earlier – always on the ball, she was. What are you doing with the Air Force, anyway?”

“I’m a linguist,” he said, and left it at that for the sake of simplicity, as he often did.

“Makes sense. Your father liked to brag about your ear for languages before you were even three.”

Daniel smiled a little, remembering his father’s pride in his linguistic abilities. Meanwhile, after a cough, Dr. Saunders continued, “I hope you’re happy, son. When your dad went on too long about how you were going to be a genius, your mom always interrupted him and said the most important thing was for you to be happy. It’s the kind of thing a man thinks about at the end.” The older man said this last sentence matter-of-factly, in a way that didn’t ask for pity.

“I am,” replied Daniel honestly. He had a wonderful man who adored him, a fulfilling job, and great friends. Not to mention cheating death more times than he could keep track of. “I truly am.”

“Glad to hear it. Oh, there’s the doorbell, should be my daughter.”

“Thank you, again.”

“My pleasure. Take care.”

“You too,” he said. When he hung up, he spared a moment to consider his own past before getting back to the more distant past.

* * *

 

Daniel had been checking the mail anxiously for several days and was finally rewarded with an envelope from one Dr. F. Saunders. Jack looked at the picture over Daniel’s shoulder. He recognized the couple from the picture in Daniel’s study, though obviously his lover’s parents were younger in this photo.

It was a small black-and-white, still crisp and unfaded. Both of Daniel’s parents had wide smiles; Melbourne’s arm was around Claire’s waist and she was holding her hand out, showing her ring off to the camera. There was a river in the background which Jack guessed had to be the Nile.

“Nice,” he commented.

Daniel nodded. “They look so happy.”

While his lover read the accompanying letter, Jack figured he’d get going on the important matter of food. A quick scan of the fridge revealed that it was time to go grocery shopping. He found a box of chicken cordon bleu in the freezer along with a bag of green beans. Frozen food was a wonderful thing.

He didn’t need to check the box to know the oven temperature, as this particular brand of stuffed chicken breasts was one of Daniel’s favorites. The oven was preheating and he’d sorted through the rest of the mail by the time Daniel finished reading his letter.

He recognized the look on Daniel’s face as contemplative in just the way that meant not to interrupt him by asking questions. So instead Jack pulled out a chair; before he’d even sat down Zelda was at his feet, ready for attention.

“You’re spoiled,” he told the dog as he proceeded to rub her stomach. Both he and Daniel were responsible for that – though at last Jack had gotten his boyfriend to give smaller pieces of cheese for the sake of Zelda’s health.

He petted the dog for several minutes before Daniel announced, “This is different. To read about my parents like this.”

“Like how?”

“Adults,” replied Daniel automatically.

Ah. That made sense. Most people transitioned into that, seeing their parents not just as mom and dad. Daniel never had – his parents had only ever been parents and archaeologists to him. “Good different or bad different?” asked Jack carefully.

“Good.”

Daniel wasn’t really in a sharing mood yet, which was his prerogative. Jack, reassured that his lover was thinking and not brooding, put the chicken in the oven and decided it was as good a time as any to load the dishwasher. Zelda disagreed, and was not amused that Daniel was too busy thinking to pick up the petting where Jack had left off.

He’d filled up the top rack and was just moving on to the bottom when Daniel spoke. “He said my mother always wanted me to be happy.”

Jack didn’t have a clue where this was going, so he settled on supportive silence.

“I always – all this time I wondered what they would think of my work.”

Now the penny dropped for Jack. “You’re more than the sum of your finds, Daniel.”

“I know that.” He damn well better, or Jack would’ve failed miserably, even before they got together as lovers. Fortunately, Daniel was a lousy liar and it was obvious he was telling the truth. “I just never really thought about it in context of what my parents wanted for me, somehow. I think… I think I got caught up in carrying on their work.”

Jack had given up on not thinking ill of the dead a long time ago, which was a good thing since he was mentally cursing Nick Ballard. Again. “Parents want their kids to be happy,” he said with conviction.

Happy, and alive… but this was about Daniel’s ghosts, not his.

“It’s a good life.” Daniel smiled.

“Yeah,” agreed Jack whole-heartedly.

“And that special on the Vikings in North America is on tonight.”

Not the kind of connection most people would make, but then Daniel wasn’t most people by any means. He mostly watched specials because he couldn’t find enough hours in a day to read all the books and articles he wanted. Jack wondered if the clouds would hold off long enough that he could stargaze while Daniel’s special was on.

“Which you promised to watch with me.”

He groaned. “Not fair, tricking me into that.”

“I didn’t trick you.”

“Yes you did.”

“How?” challenged Daniel, an all-too-knowing glint in his eyes.

He knew just what he’d done: mention it when Jack was still enjoying his post-orgasmic bliss and prone to saying dumb things like, “Sure, I can spare an hour for Vikings.”

Though, all things considered, Vikings were not as bad as a lot of the specials Daniel liked. Still, Jack insisted, “You can’t just start talking about these things after mind-blowing sex and expect-”

He never got to finish, because Daniel cut in with, “Please. Your mind had nothing to do with what I was blowing.”

Jack couldn’t come up with a suitable response (he did so love it when Daniel started talking dirty), so all he could do was resign himself to the special and hope it would be followed by a repeat of the other activities.

* * *

 

Paul Davis was having a highly productive day, having thrown himself into his work with even more vigor than usual. He reasoned that if his personal life wasn’t going well, at least his professional life could. And sure, it wasn’t the end of the world, but halfway through what had seemed like a promising third date it had come to light that his date actually had a wife. Paul hadn’t stayed around to listen to the philandering man’s excuses. He had no respect for cheaters.

Work, on the other hand, went smoothly. He was sitting at his desk going over minutes from the last IOC meeting when General O’Neill came in through the half-open door. “General,” said Paul, pushing back his chair to stand.

“At ease, Davis.”

He stood at ease. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I heard you’re running to raise money for wounded vets.”

“Yes sir, next Saturday.” He enjoyed running, and was only too happy to help his fellow service members. “We’re raising money for a new, disabled-friendly rec center over at Peterson.” There was even talk of wheelchair-height pool tables.

The general nodded. “Great. Put me down for a hundred and fifty, will you? I’ll bring it in Monday.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s generous of you.”

“It’s a good cause.”

“That it is.” Just then, Paul remembered Dr. Jackson’s injury. It was hardly noticeable most of the time, although in the gym the archaeologist always took the elliptical instead of the treadmill, because he said it was better if his feet stayed put. That was all thanks to the Asgard, of course. Most of the military didn’t get that kind of help.

O’Neill glanced at the papers. Paul had learned that this was a subtle inquiry. He’d been a bit confused by the general’s periodic visits – O’Neill had never struck him as a micromanager – until Colonel Fisk explained that the general liked to go on rounds to see what was going on. So he answered the silent question, “IOC minutes.”

“The Russians still being reasonable?”

“Yes sir.” The Russian government had settled into a fairly routine position. They were naturally interested in more influence at SGC, but they seemed to trust O’Neill, they were happy with the Russian team, and most of all they were content to let the U.S. foot the bill. The Chinese delegate was actually more of a pain in the ass, though all talk and no action.

“Good.”

“Always, sir.”

“Have a nice weekend, Davis.”

“You too, sir.”

After the Pentagon, it was truly refreshing to have a CO as relatable and genuine as Jack O’Neill.

* * *

 

It was a nice spring Saturday, so Jack and Teal’c could hardly wait to get out the paintball guns and go off to use them. Daniel didn’t especially see the appeal, but he did have to admit that he’d rather play paintball than do his taxes. Unfortunately, he’d put off taxes so long that he didn’t have much longer to get them finished. Jack, of course, had submitted his a month earlier. That alone made Daniel wish they could submit a joint return.

He didn’t even have Zelda’s company. There were squirrels in the back yard, and she’d evidently decided it was her mission for the day to make their lives as miserable as possible. Fortunately she didn’t bark too often, only when a squirrel got cheeky and thought it would get near the house or her doghouse. Thus occupied, she had no interested in coming inside. Daniel couldn’t blame her when the most exciting thing he had to tempt her with was tax preparation.

At last, he was almost done. He’d just need to check his math again before declaring his taxes finished and submitting them. First things first, though. It was time for a coffee break.

He looked out the back window to check on Zelda while his coffee brewed. She was sitting on guard lest the squirrels get any ideas about leaving the tree she’d chased them up. Jack had set up the run so she could get to the tree for extra shade, if she didn’t want to be in her doghouse. Evidently this was also useful for trapping squirrels.

There were a couple handfuls of grapes left, so he pulled them out of the fridge and ate them as the delicious scent of quality coffee filled the kitchen. It had taken some time to get used to being able to buy such perishable fruit. Fresh produce had a tendency to spoil with alarming frequency when he was on SG-1, but now more often than not he and Jack got to their fruits and vegetables in time.

He’d also converted Jack to the good coffee, and Daniel didn’t believe it for a minute when Jack muttered something about two brands not making sense because they had so many containers of grounds and beans taking up space.

The latest _Journal of Linguistics_ had arrived two days ago but he hadn’t gotten to it yet. He read through the table of contents and, once his coffee was ready, settled in to read the most promising article.

The coffee was gone and he’d almost finished the article when he heard Jack’s key in the lock. He put the journal down and went to see how much damage Teal’c had managed this time. Jack’s paintball clothes had a few new orange splotches. Teal’c had clearly gotten in good hits. “I got him too,” Jack said. That was not at all hard to believe. Both Jack and Teal’c took paintball fairly seriously. Daniel had his suspicions that their intensity frightened more casual players.

He didn’t know how his partner had managed to get paint specks in his hair, and then there was the mud. It looked like Jack had decided to use some dirt as camouflage, and only wiped about half of it off. He was a mess.

“I’m going to shower,” announced Jack.

Finishing the article and double-checking his tax form could wait, Daniel decided, because the shower presented intriguing possibilities. “I’ll help.”

“Help?” asked Jack with an anticipatory grin. He nobly did his utmost to be supportive of Daniel’s periodic desire for shower sex.

“We can’t have you missing a spot,” he answered solemnly, though he was pretty sure his face would give away his less-than-solemn mood.

“I did get a little stiff waiting in ambush.”

Daniel failed to remain serious and let out a chuckle. “Come on, Jack.”

His partner was only too eager to follow him to the shower.

* * *

 

George was already enjoying his retirement. He had found a comfortable little house not far from his daughter’s place. Speaking of his daughter, Allie was happier than she’d been in years. She’d been shattered when her husband left, but had finally moved on and was dating a wonderful man who adored her and the girls. George expected an engagement any day now. Kayla was very quickly turning into a young woman and Tessa wasn’t far behind.

Yes, it was good to relax and enjoy what he considered a well-earned retirement. He bought himself a new set of golf clubs for a retirement present and they’d already seen more use than his old set had in a decade.

SG-1 had insisted on a little dinner in his honor at Jack and Daniel’s house. Jack, as usual, had grilled some great steaks. George would’ve bet money that Daniel had put together the shish kabobs, because Jack had never been one for such exotic vegetables. They were good, though George thought grilling bamboo shoots was a bit unusual. Teal’c (who was apparently banned from using the grill) had brought chips and dip, and Colonel Carter had been talked into making a cheesecake. George suspected Jack requested cheesecakes as often as he thought he could get away with it.

“This is great, Sam,” said Daniel.

George had to agree. She’d made a fine mocha cheesecake. “Delicious.”

“As always,” noted Jack between bites.

“This is a most enjoyable talent,” added Teal’c.

“Thanks,” said Carter. “The only downside to this talent is the number of cheesecake requests I keep getting.” This she said with a look Jack’s way, but he pretended not to notice.

Jack and Daniel had grown used to acting like the couple they were, with little touches and looks. They had also gotten both rings and a dog since George’s last visit. According to Daniel, their next door neighbors were able to take care of the black lab if needed. Zelda was a pleasure. George hadn’t owned a dog in some years, and resolved to consider the idea.

This dinner was the kind of thing George had sorely missed the last three years. Washington wasn’t a good place to make friends. He’d only had one real friend, Admiral Craig Powers, but Craig had retired the previous year and was happily spending his days fishing off the coast of Florida.

So this kind of relaxed evening was just what he’d hoped. Certainly there had been a retirement celebration for him in D.C., but it was not the same. Here with SG-1 there were no overtones of favor-currying and political jockeying. It was a simple, pleasant evening with people who cared about his happiness. George found it refreshing.

Now he was trying to transition to a first-name basis. He and Jack had, at some length, gotten there already. Teal’c didn’t really do first names, for reasons George had never understood. Anyway, he wasn’t too worried about it. Carter – Sam – had at least stopped saying ‘sir’ halfway through dinner. George didn’t want to hear ‘sir’ anymore.

There had been some excitement that afternoon at SGC, and he was intently listening to the story. Evidently SG-2 had come back early because of an earthquake. Or a P2Y-420-quake, as Jack had noted.

“We were just waiting for Warren when a rabbit came through the gate,” explained Jack. “Only it was smaller and faster than our rabbits.”

“Eddie named it Energizer,” said Sam. George caught Daniel rolling his eyes at that.

“Right,” continued Jack. “So the SFs were swinging their weapons around all over the place, trying to keep this thing targeted. Meanwhile Larson was telling them not to shoot, that it’s a perfectly harmless herbivore. By the time Warren came through the rest of his team was chasing this rabbit around the gate room, but the SFs were still targeting it, so Warren wasn’t too happy that all the SFs had his team in their sights.”

He had to chuckle at the image. This was the sort of amusing, harmless thing that never happened at the Pentagon. But Jack wasn’t done.

“Suddenly this thing stopped on the ramp and lay down. Next thing I know, Larson’s telling me it’s having babies.”

“Eddie Hallowell was most delighted,” noted Teal’c.

Daniel mused, “I’ve never seen SFs look so out of place.”

“Hallowell and Lee turned the gate room into a vet clinic,” complained Jack, but everyone knew he was highly amused like the rest of them.

George smiled and took another bite of his cheesecake. He was going to enjoy retirement even more if he still got to hear stories from SGC.

* * *

 

Daniel was running a couple minutes late to meet Jack and go home, but that wasn’t particularly unusual. What was unusual, however, was the sight that met him when the elevator doors opened: Teal’c leading a small parade of airmen laden with Target bags.

“Um, Teal’c?”

“Rya’c tells me it is likely to be a very cold winter,” reported Teal’c.

“I think he bought every blanket in Target,” muttered one of the airmen.

The scene began to made sense. It was just turning to winter for Teal’c’s family, and the Free Jaffa did not have a lot of resources. Teal’c was committed to helping where he could, above and beyond what SGC gave. He sent all manner of things: goats, seed potatoes, and now blankets. These were things the Jaffa had never needed to worry about under the Goa’uld.

“I did not,” corrected Teal’c. “An employee began to restock immediately.”

The airman, who obviously had forgotten about Teal’c’s great hearing, just got on the elevator. Daniel sort of wished he’d been there to witness Teal’c buying every blanket Target had on the shelves.

Jack meandered into view; from his expression it was clear he’d been watching the blanket parade with amusement. “You got pink Barbie blankets?”

“They appear quite warm.”

“I can’t imagine a big ol’ Jaffa warrior curled up in one of those.”

“Those are child-sized blankets, O’Neill.”

“Of course they are.”

“They will therefore be used by children,” concluded Teal’c. Jack seemed a bit disappointed in this.

While waiting for the elevator, Teal’c glanced down at one of the bags he held. It so happened that a Barbie blanket was on top, complete with Barbie on the package. “This doll is not correctly proportioned,” he observed. “Is this the toy Dr. Frasier found offensive?”

“The one and only,” affirmed Jack. Janet had felt strongly that the physically impossible body proportions of Barbie dolls were one among many unrealistic expectations set for young girls.

Daniel said, “I think the Target employees will be talking about this for a while.” He wouldn’t have minded being there to see how people reacted to Teal’c’s unusual purchase.

“One of the other customers took a picture with her cell phone. I believe she attempted subterfuge, but she was quite obvious.”

“You don’t see someone buying every blanket on the shelves everyday,” remarked Daniel. Jack frowned, no doubt considering the infinitesimally small chance that someone would bother tracking Teal’c’s purchases and start asking questions.

The arrival of the elevator cut off further conversation, as Teal’c and the remaining airmen got on it. Daniel and Jack resumed their walk to the security checkpoint to sign out.

“Just when you think you’ve seen it all,” said Jack, “T comes up with something new.”

Daniel knew perfectly well Jack was just using a common saying, but he couldn’t resist the chance to point out, “By now you should know better than to think you’ve seen it all.”

Jack couldn’t come up with a counter to that one.

* * *

 

Sam hadn’t intended to buy furniture when she left her house that morning. She’d only gone out looking for a new skirt and possibly a blouse. There was a detour due to road construction which routed her past an antique store having a sidewalk sale. Normally Sam wasn’t particularly interested in antique stores, but she’d turned around to go back to this one because of what she saw.

It was an old hall tree almost exactly like the one her grandmother had owned. The only difference was that this one was a slightly darker color. Her grandmother used to put together little scavenger hunts, and there was usually something tucked in the hall tree. As soon as she spotted this hall tree, Sam had to have it.

Transportation was an issue, though. The hall tree was much too big for her Volvo and would fare even worse in Eddie’s Prius. Fortunately, Jack was available and willing to bring Sam’s new purchase home for her.

He parked next to her car and got out. “Daniel would’ve come, but he promised Cassandra he’d help her study for her Latin test.”

Cassie was better at science than languages, and she held herself to high standards. The combination had her nervous about her Latin grade, so Sam was happy that Daniel was able to help. Hopefully after he went over things with her, Cassie would calm down about the Latin test. She liked most of her pre-med courses, but not the Latin requirement.

“I’m glad. She’s worked herself up over it. And Eddie’s meeting us at the house, so we’ll be all set.”

Jack followed her over to the hall tree. “What is this?” he asked.

“A hall tree. My grandmother had one almost exactly like it.”

“Huh.” He didn’t seem particularly impressed, but then Sam hadn’t really expected him to be.

“You hang coats off it. Or hats or purses. And there’s storage here,” she explained, lifting the bench seat up to show him.

“Looks solid.”

The attendant cut off their conversation with, “Is this your friend with the truck?”

“That’s me,” answered Jack.

“Excellent. Ms. Carter has already paid, so we’re all set.”

It was weird to hear herself referred to as ‘Ms. Carter,’ and Sam decided she didn’t care for it.

“On three. One, two, three.” The attendant resolutely tried to ensure that Sam’s role in the lifting was nominal, but failed miserably because Jack wouldn’t cooperate. He had learned ten years ago that she wouldn’t stand for such a thing.

The hall tree _was_ solid, built to last. Sam was very pleased with her purchase and happy about the detour that routed her past this antique shop. Even if she had spent significantly more money than she’d intended to spend that day.

It turned out that getting the hall tree over to Jack’s truck was the easy part. Jack wanted care taken around his truck. The attendant wanted care taken around the hall tree. Sam wanted to take care of both, because she didn’t want to damage her new hall tree but she knew how Jack could get about his truck. By the time the hall tree was securely in the back of Jack’s truck, strapped in, the attendant seemed glad to be rid of them.

“Enjoy your purchase,” he told her. “Remember us the next time you’re looking for antiques.”

“Thank you,” she said, not bothering to tell him that she never went looking for antiques.

“No respect for vehicles,” muttered Jack in the direction of the retreating figure. “Must not be old enough for him.”

Sam opted to ignore that. “Meet you at my place?”

“Yep. I don’t suppose you have any cheesecake lying around?” he asked hopefully.

“Sorry.”

“That’s a shame.”

She didn’t think he had any idea how much work went into making a really good cheesecake, and that wasn’t even getting into the calories. “I told you I’d show you how to make them. The offer’s still open.”

Jack made a slightly appalled face. “Meet you at your house,” he said, leaving aside cheesecake. He was great with a barbeque and an adequate cook if he kept things simple, but Jack’s idea of baking was thawing a frozen dessert and adding a scoop of ice cream.

Barely resisting the urge to remind him to drive carefully with her hall tree, Sam got in her own car and headed home. Her niece and nephew were too old for scavenger hunts. In fact her nephew had just turned 13, decided he was too old for Davy, and would now answer only to David. But Sam thought that someday, if Cassie had kids, she would set up scavenger hunts for them, and there would be something in the hall tree.

* * *

 

Jack had planned their anniversary last year, so this year Daniel decided it was his turn. Of course, this time they were able to celebrate openly. They’d gone out for a nice dinner and come home for a sensual dessert experience that led to slow, languorous lovemaking. By the time they got around to exchanging gifts it was pretty late, but neither of them minded.

As Daniel went to get his gift, Jack reflected on how lucky he was. At first he hadn’t been sure that he had enough to offer Daniel, but it soon became clear that he’d worried over nothing. Daniel already knew him better than anyone else in the universe, and loved him flaws and all. And that, of course, worked both ways. They had a great life together, and Jack didn’t want to change a thing about it (except Daniel’s weak foot and those damn reading glasses he himself had to wear now).

Daniel came out holding an envelope. “Happy anniversary, Jack.”

_On Our Anniversary_ , said the outside of the card, which featured a little pond that Jack wouldn’t have minded fishing in. He opened it, momentarily setting aside the papers that fell out. _I want you to know that your love gives me strength, comfort, and more happiness than I have ever known. Every glance, every touch renews our love, and I am forever yours._

Below, Daniel had written, _Love, with all of my heart, Daniel._

“I like that,” Jack announced. “How we keep renewing our love.”

Daniel smiled. “It’s true.”

The papers in the card turned out to be two tickets to a Colorado Rockies game. “I’m taking you on a weekend getaway,” explained Daniel. Jack checked the date – it was two weekends away.

“Sounds great.”

“Teal’c’s going to stay here and watch Zelda. Although I think he mainly wants the TV.” That wouldn’t surprise Jack. Teal’c loved their home theater system. “We’re going to relax and go to the game.”

It was an awesome gift. Jack didn’t get to see many baseball games live, and a weekend getaway with Daniel was always great. He kissed his lover before thanking him. “Thanks, cariad. I’m looking forward to it. Haven’t been to a baseball game in a while. These are great seats, too.”

Daniel smiled again, enjoying Jack’s obvious enthusiasm. After checking out who the Rockies would be playing, Jack reached for the gift he had for Daniel.

He had gotten a regular Hallmark anniversary card and then personalized it by adding _Thanks for kissing me two years ago._ _Love you. Jack._ When Daniel read that reference to the impetuous kiss that started their relationship, he smiled and said, “My pleasure.”

Once the card was set aside, Daniel set about unwrapping his gift. He opened the box and pulled out four archaeology books, one by one. “These are – Jack, how did you know?”

Jack grinned, pleased that Daniel liked the gifts. Sure, archaeology books weren’t a particularly romantic anniversary gift, but they were very Daniel.

“Your book catalogue,” he explained. “Those had a dot beside them.” When his lover gave him a quizzical look, Jack elaborated, “That means you put your pen down, ready to circle them to buy them, but decided you were already spending enough.” And no wonder; it turned out that archaeology books could cost a small fortune. Jack figured this was because so few people bought them, but on the other hand not many people would care enough to spend that much.

Daniel laughed and leaned in for a kiss. “You continue to astound me, cariad.”

“I try.” He picked up a manila envelope from beside the couch and handed it to his lover.

“What’s this?” asked Daniel. “Jack, the books were more than enough.”

“Just open it.” He was a little nervous, even though he knew there was no reason to be.

Daniel did, pulling out several sheets of paper. “Paperwork?” He started scanning the pages, clearly confused. “Wait a minute, this is about the house… Jack!”

“Yes?”

“You’re putting the house in my name too?”

“You just need to sign,” he explained.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“It makes sense.” If anything happened to him, this would save Daniel hassle and taxes.

“Wow.” Daniel flipped through the pages incredulously. “Thank you, Jack. I know there are practical reasons, but to see both of our names listed there…”

“I know,” he said with a smile. “Cool, isn’t it?”

“Very.”  Daniel looked at him, love written all over his face. “Jack… thank you.”

“Happy anniversary, Daniel,” he said, and then followed that with a kiss.

“Mmm.” Daniel moved his new books aside so they could lean together. “The happiest.”

Jack figured his life was so good, he couldn’t even complain that much about the reading glasses.


	2. Part II

Daniel was having a great week. He and Jack had celebrated their anniversary, and a couple of days later he was excavating on P2Z-048. As he’d suspected, there was indeed a pyramid.

It was a small pyramid, and empty in the main chambers. Daniel was convinced that there were hidden chambers, as it was the only way he could explain the difference in size between the inside and outside, and was intently looking for a clue that would direct him to one. Meanwhile Xavier Rikes was slowly unearthing a fallen statue outside and so far had high praise for the craftsmanship.  

P2Z-048 had been in Bastet’s small domain. Daniel was standing in front of a wall with wonderfully preserved paintings, which had already been thoroughly videotaped. “The eye of Bastet knows who is worthy,” he read, the Goa’uld script sharp and precise.

Captain Falmouth of SG-3 scowled but said nothing. He’d long ago learned that Daniel thought aloud and didn’t really expect a response.

“That’s odd,” he mused. The Goa’uld tended to emphasize both eyes in their references, which Daniel suspected was because the glowing eyes meant…

“Oh!” It hit him in a flash of inspiration, the kind he’d never quite been able to explain. “The eye of Bastet!” Yes, there it was. A slight indentation in the wall. Perfect. “Some kind of sensor… how did a Goa’uld know who was worthy?”

He considered this for a moment. Worthy to a Goa’uld was loyal to the death – like a Jaffa. Daniel carefully sketched out the symbol that Bastet’s Jaffa had tattooed on their foreheads. Falmouth had taken some interest in the proceedings.

Just as he’d suspected, holding up Bastet’s symbol right in front of the eye in the painting caused a door to open. The wall split in half horizontally, revealing the chamber Daniel had known had to be there.

Falmouth took point and was already surveying the room, P-90 at the ready. Daniel wondered, not for the first time, if Marines realized that archaeological finds requiring weapons were really the exception, not the rule. Falmouth was a good man to work with, anyway; he had understood right away the importance of not touching anything unless it was a matter of life or death.

Judging by the mess, Daniel guessed that the room had been abandoned in a hurry. And the Jaffa who had no doubt been clearing it out had their obvious priorities: there were only a couple of bricks of naquadah left, but plenty of gold. The gold items were a treasure trove of archaeological significance. Likely offerings to Bastet, they ran the gamut from small cat statues to bracelets. And a cat necklace. Jack was going to start coming up with cat jokes as soon as Daniel made his next report back to SGC.

What held Daniel’s attention, however, was a set of urns. He pulled out his video camera and started recording. They were two and a half feet tall and covered with what he took to be scenes of daily life. Erecting a building, planting crops, a funeral – not the usual emphasis on life after death, so likely not created for a tomb. Which made sense from what they’d seen of the site thus far.

The second urn had much more bright yellow pigment and a more liberal use of blue as well. Daniel’s mind was racing to draw tentative conclusions from this: divinity, eternity – definitely the kinds of things a ‘god’ would want to emphasize. And there, Bastet. A classic portrayal of her, a woman’s body with a cat’s head, looming over the second urn. Daniel strongly suspected this set of urns was a before-and-after portrayal. Favorable to Bastet, obviously.

He mentally set aside the other artifacts for the time being. They were a splendid find on their own, but the knowledge the set of urns held was much more tantalizing. They knew next to nothing about the Goa’uld rule of Egypt. Daniel could rattle off two dozen unanswered questions without giving the matter sustained thought.

Sarah hadn’t been able to answer many questions, either. The Tok’ra concluded that Osiris, once captured, had put some kind of partial mental block in Gardner’s head. She remembered some things, but not others. It made sense, once Osiris had seen the proverbial writing on the wall, to keep information from SGC. The Tok’ra thought they might be able to remove it, but Gardner had begged them not to and Mackenzie had backed her. Hammond had taken hell for not pushing that issue.

Daniel knew he wouldn’t get all the answers from the urns, but he would certainly get more information than he currently had. He circled around, noting a bright magenta on the back of the second urn. Ancient Egyptian art never used magenta, but he supposed it made sense. The second urn was a monument to a new way of living under Bastet, so using a pigment from their new home was perfectly natural.

“Dr. Jackson!”

Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from the treasures. One particularly large scene depicted a crowd in front of Bastet, presenting offerings. Falmouth had better have a good reason for interrupting.

“Look in this corner,” insisted the captain.

Daniel sighed and left the urns. It was better than being told the chamber was about to blow up, at any rate. He obligingly looked in the corner, past a couple of statues draped with necklaces, and saw what Falmouth was excited about. Sitting there, looking quite whole and functional, was a ZPM.

This, combined with the strange story of that trip back in time alternate versions of themselves took to secure a ZPM held by Ra, raised all sorts of interesting questions. (He tried not to think about the time travel questions.) How exactly had the Goa’uld viewed ZPMs? They clearly considered the devices valuable but had no idea what they were for until Jack activated the Antarctic outpost. Daniel wondered if perhaps the conquered Egyptians had presented the ZPMs as offerings, not having any idea what they held but duly presenting items of value to their ‘gods.’ (Which brought up another point: how much did the Egyptians ever question the Goa’ulds’ divinity?) The Goa’uld might have recognized the ZPMs as Ancient and potentially valuable. It was a reasonable theory for which Daniel had not a shred of evidence.

“Incredible,” he murmured, recording the ZPM with his video camera.

“A spare,” announced Falmouth happily. “The Pentagon’s gonna love this.”

Right. That too.

* * *

 

Paul didn’t hate bowling, but he didn’t love it either. He’d accepted Teal’c’s invitation anyway, because he didn’t have anything more exciting planned. Much to his surprise, it wasn’t just Teal’c waiting at the bowling alley. O’Neill was hanging around as well.

“General. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I am rarely able to convince him,” explained Teal’c.

On the matter of timing, Dr. Jackson was offworld on a dig, and Paul didn’t think for a second that was a coincidence.

“Did he warn you how good he is?” asked the general.

Paul nodded. “I think the word he used was ‘proficient.’ I also warned him I’m not.”

“That makes two of us,” replied the general. “Too bad outnumbering him doesn’t do us any good.”

Paul was still learning how to interpret the Jaffa’s subtle expressions, but he thought the one Teal’c gave O’Neill was slightly smug amusement.

Teal’c was proficient, alright. Three turns in and his score was already twice Paul’s. It was kind of reassuring to Paul that O’Neill’s score stayed more or less on par with his own.

The lane on the right was being used by a man and two girls who were, Paul guessed, both in the neighborhood of ten years old. The man was a brunette, about Paul’s age, with a reasonably attractive face and an incredible body. He had possibly the most perfect ass Paul had ever seen, and the tight jeans displayed it admirably when he bent over to tie his shoe. Paul hadn’t thought he was staring, but his gaze must’ve lingered a second too long. O’Neill winked at him.

It was a quirk of genetics from his mother’s side that Paul hardly ever blushed. He’d never been so grateful in his entire life. Fortunately the general said nothing and took his turn bowling, getting a spare. Paul was so distracted his first ball went into the gutter and he only knocked down three pins with the second.

Technically, O’Neill wasn’t military anymore, and it wasn’t as if he would care that Paul was gay. But two decades of conditioning couldn’t just be put aside, and Paul was not at all comfortable with the situation. Even if he was straight he doubted he’d want his CO to catch him eyeing someone.

Two turns later, the kids went off to get food and the hunk gave Paul a winning smile. O’Neill apparently noticed. That was the problem with Special Ops men – they noticed _everything_. Paul honestly didn’t know how O’Neill had ever convinced anyone with his dumb colonel routine.

“Come on, T, we’re thirsty,” announced the general.

Teal’c lifted an eyebrow slightly. “I am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Very well. Excuse us, Colonel Davis. We are thirsty.”

“Have fun,” added O’Neill under his breath.

Paul was left alternately thankful for and cursing his CO. The hunk moved closer, and Paul gave a little smile to indicate his interest.

“Hi,” said the hunk.

“Hi.” Damn, he sucked at small talk.

“Finally got a minute of peace. Great kids, but high energy.”

“Yours?” asked Paul, hoping he sounded casual.

“My sister’s kids. I try to give her a break sometimes.”

He nodded. “That’s nice of you.”

“So, you come here often?”

“No. My coworker talked me into it. How about you?”

“The girls picked.” Here the hunk held out his hand. “I’m Ray.”

“Paul.”

They shared a firm handshake while Ray said, “So what do you like?”

“I’m a bit of a homebody,” admitted Paul. “Give me a good book and a good glass of port, and I’m happy. Or live jazz,” he added, lest it sound like he never left his apartment.

Ray glanced over towards the food counter. “I’m not usually this forward, but the girls will be back in a minute. If I give you my number, will you call?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “But you should know I’m military.” That was a dealbreaker for some men.

Ray looked up from scribbling his number on a scrap of paper. “That’s fine with me. I keep a low profile. I have to if I want to keep teaching in this city.”

“What do you teach?”

“High school English. You’re Air Force?”

“Yes. I can’t talk about my job.” He took Ray’s number, glancing at it before slipping it into his pocket.

Ray nodded, then paused. “Are you…”

“Lieutenant colonel,” answered Paul, anticipating the question. He knew from experience that educated men usually wanted to know if he was enlisted or an officer, trying to feel out if they’d be on the same intellectual level.

Ray’s nieces were almost back, so Paul thought it time to wrap up their conversation. “I’ll call you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

So was Paul. His game was notably worse the rest of the night, as he was preoccupied, but thankfully neither O’Neill nor Teal’c commented on that.

* * *

 

Sometimes, Jack really felt sorry for all the people at SGC who didn’t get to go home and share with their significant others. He’d done the “can’t tell you about my work” route with Sara and it sucked. Small wonder he hadn’t been able to share his pain when Charlie died; he was used to keeping things from her, because she couldn’t know classified details or he didn’t want her to know what he was capable of.

But SGC changed everything a person knew, and Jack couldn’t imagine not going home and sharing that, like he and Daniel were just then. They’d developed this routine whenever Daniel was gone on a longer mission. After they had homecoming sex, they lounged together and talked about what had gone on. It meant more to Jack than he would admit to anyone but Daniel.

So they were lying in bed, Jack flat on his back and Daniel on his stomach, arm thrown across Jack’s chest, while Jack had successfully tangled their legs together. He missed contact when Daniel was gone. So did Daniel. Neither of them had actually said so, but they just knew. It was obvious in the way they sought contact out as soon as possible. And this time, they had the bonus of their weekend in Denver just a few days away. Jack was really looking forward to that.

He had sent the new SG-3 to P2Z-048, since guarding the excavation was as close to a milk run as missions got. Colonel Reynolds had just been given command of the alpha site. He could’ve had a Prometheus-class ship a year earlier, but waited until Barton made lieutenant colonel to hand over command of SG-3. Personally Jack suspected Reynolds preferred a land command anyway. Marines.

The newest member of SG-3, Lieutenant Dvorak, was a good kid. Only out of Quantico two years, but he’d already established himself as a very promising young officer. He had to, to get assigned to SGC. There was just one problem, and as far as Daniel was concerned it was a big one.

“He couldn’t make a decent cup of coffee to save his life, Jack. I know the new guy usually makes the coffee, but I had to make a fresh pot any time I wanted a drinkable cup. It was getting ridiculous, so I showed him, and he still didn’t get it.”

There was one of many differences between civilians and military, Marines in particular. The Marines would suck it up and try not to taste the lousy coffee. In point of fact Jack had once overheard a group of Marines bragging about the sludge they’d downed. Daniel, on the other hand, had long held the opinion that life was too short to drink bad coffee.  

“He’ll have to leave SGC then,” teased Jack.

Daniel scowled. “Very funny. Really, what’s so hard about making drinkable coffee?”

“We could start recruiting people who worked at Starbucks in high school.”

“Good luck finding a Marine who’ll admit to making great lattes.”

Instead of conceding that very valid point, Jack changed the subject. “Still, you’ve made everyone from the president to the IOC very happy.”

“True,” said Daniel. “It’s good to have another ZPM.”

Daniel was less excited than General Yarrow had been when Jack reported the news, and this was a man who got excited over scratches in a rock if he saw a pattern. Jack suspected he knew where this was going. “But nobody cares about what else you learned,” he pronounced.

That earned him a grateful look from his lover. “Exactly. I know we need these kinds of things, but it’s not why I do what I do. Sure, it’ll help next time I have to fill out a budget, and I’m glad we’ve got a spare if we need to defend the planet again.”

This was not new. Daniel felt, justifiably, that his academic contributions were often overlooked if they lacked practical military application. Jack had learned that practical military application was in the eye of the beholder. You never knew what arcane knowledge would convince natives you were friendly or help you get out of a maze. Most of all, though, he’d come to understand because it was important to Daniel. He didn’t get it entirely, but he did get enough to know when Daniel was bothered by the issue.

Daniel started trailing his finger around Jack’s chest. With anyone else it would’ve been random movement, but with Daniel you just never knew. It could be Ancient or cuneiform. “We know next to nothing about Goa’uld Egypt.”

“Except that it sucked for the Egyptians.”

“That’s not very enlightening.”

Personally, Jack thought it covered the main point pretty well. “Doesn’t help that we can’t tell all those other archaeologists what to look for,” he noted, lest Daniel find a way to see this as a personal inadequacy.

“No, it doesn’t. And Sarah… well, it’s probably for the best.”

“Probably,” agreed Jack. “For Gardner, at least.”

“So this is a real breakthrough.” Daniel’s eyes practically shimmered with the joy of archaeological significance. “It was either a tribute to or, more likely, ordered by Bastet, so we aren’t getting the whole picture of what really happened, but this the best evidence we have for how the Goa’uld wanted people to think of their history.”

Jack had heard this and more already at the mountain. “But it’s more of the picture than we have before,” he summarized. “And someday, Daniel Jackson, when the program goes public, every historian and archaeologist is going to be able to appreciate what you’ve done.”

“It’s not just me,” protested Daniel modestly.

“It’s a lot you. You’re going to be the most famous archaeologist since… ah, hell, you’ll be more famous than any other archaeologist has ever been.” Which he hoped was a convincing cover for his failure to come up with a famous archaeologist.  

Apparently it wasn’t, because Daniel’s eyebrows flew up, but he didn’t call Jack on it. Jack, meanwhile, realized it was one of the times he needed to challenge himself. He’d made it his personal mission to push himself, saying things he felt but never knew how to say quite right. It wasn’t easy, but Daniel deserved it.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, smoothing out his lover’s hair. “For your genius work. And for putting up with all the shit, too, walking that line.” Okay, so it wasn’t an eloquent declaration. This was why Jack found it much easier to show Daniel with actions than use words. But he meant what he said, and even more he meant the things he couldn’t quite find words for.

Daniel got it anyway and smiled. “Oh, cariad,” he replied softly. “We all lost ourselves for a while there, but we found ourselves again. Better than before.”

And that was exactly what Jack meant. Daniel had to deal with all the military crap that annoyed even Jack, who’d chosen it for a career. Sure, Daniel had changed and grown – they all had – but he hadn’t lost himself. Not permanently. Lesser men would have. Jack had been afraid Daniel had, and he’d been too screwed up himself to help. But that was over and done now, water under the bridge.

It didn’t mean Jack was any less proud of his lover.

Then, louder, Daniel asked, “So what did I miss here?”

“Not much. SG-12 got sprayed by alien skunks, Teal’c tried horseback riding and hates it, Siler sprained his wrist again, and it looks like Davis got himself a date.”

“And you know this last one how?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, and proceeded to fill Daniel in on what had been a far more interesting evening of bowling than Jack had expected.

* * *

 

Teal’c took his dogsitting responsibilities seriously, so he fed Zelda before seeing to his own breakfast. The canned dog food was, he thought, somewhat revolting, but his friends’ pet consumed it with remarkable speed. He was still waiting for his bagel to toast when she reappeared at his side.

“I will take you for a walk after I too have eaten,” he informed her before biting into a pear. She watched with great interest as he chewed and swallowed. When he gave no indication that he was inclined to share his meal, Zelda exhaled loudly and slumped down on the floor. Teal’c strongly suspected that the creature was attempting to look as pathetic as possible in order to garner pity. O’Neill had not warned him that canines could be so cunning.

He faced numerous false gods and possible death on a routine basis. Surely seeing to the needs of a dog for two days could not be difficult. So he had thought. There was a time the previous evening he had doubted that conviction. He had watched _Jaws._ According to Colonel Dinsmore, _Jaws_ was a landmark of cinematography and not to be missed. In fact she’d even loaned Teal’c her personal copy. Teal’c had never really understood the fascination with intentionally scaring oneself, but he found the movie entertaining nevertheless. However, it had not made him any more inclined to embrace the Tau’ri concept of recreational swimming. He still considered swimming a survival skill and nothing more.

Zelda had not enjoyed _Jaws_. Perhaps it was the screaming, or the heavy soundtrack, but she was agitated throughout the entire movie and even after it ended. Teal’c was therefore very pleased to see that she had suffered no lasting effects. He did not know if it was possibly to psychologically traumatize a dog with a movie, but he did not wish to answer the question from firsthand knowledge.

While he ate his bagel Teal’c considered the movie selections he’d brought with him. The great benefit of O’Neill and Daniel Jackson’s residence was the flat screen television and its accompanying sound system. Teal’c would have very much liked these for himself but lacked space. He was therefore availing himself of his friends’ while dogsitting.

He decided to watch _Lara Croft Tomb Raider_ after walking Zelda. Daniel Jackson would no doubt disapprove strongly. Sergeant Harriman, who’d recommended the movie, had pointed out that the worst possible outcome was “spending an hour and a half looking at Angelina Jolie, which is no hardship.” Teal’c found that to be reasonable point.

Once he’d finished his breakfast and placed the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, he walked over to the door. Zelda, a perpetually optimistic creature, joined him with a wagging tail.

“We will now take a walk,” he told the dog. In response, her tail wagged even faster. Teal’c secured her leash, ensured that he had the key before locking the door, and set out.

He preferred a brisk walk for the exercise, a pace Zelda approved of except on those occasions she wished to stop and investigate. Some of the objects she deemed interesting came as a surprise to Teal’c. His opinion of canines was lowered slightly by her determination to study a mangled squirrel carcass. On that Teal’c refused to compromise, and he would not allow her to examine the dead creature.

“No,” he insisted, dragging her away. “That is unhygienic.”

Strange habits aside, Zelda was an agreeable pet. Teal’c would not be averse to dogsitting on future weekends. Particularly since the job came with access to O’Neill and Daniel Jackson’s home theater system.

* * *

 

Daniel had learned that the key to enjoying a live baseball game was not to overthink it. True, this was a concept he had trouble with in general, but he’d made progress over the years. He’d come to that realization the day he finally gave up on understanding the infield fly rule. Anyway he preferred baseball to hockey, which was entirely too violent for his tastes. And, of course, hockey was cold.

The other important aspect not to think about at a baseball game was prices. He was having a Coke and nachos, which were fine as long as he pointedly didn’t think about how the cost was more or less criminal extortion.

It was a beautiful spring day and Jack was having a great time. That was enough for Daniel just then, and he even got caught up in the excitement when the Rockies scored a grand slam. Besides, compromise worked both ways. When they arrived in Denver his attention had been grabbed by ads for a concert of eastern European folk songs to be put on in a park later that evening. Jack said that they could go. When Daniel asked, “You’re sure?” his partner had shrugged and replied, “There are worse ways to spend a couple hours.” That, of course, meant he would go because it would make Daniel happy.

A foul ball came their way in a slow arc. Daniel had no interest in attempting to catch an errant baseball, but as usual was one of the few people in their section who felt that way. In seconds Jack was reaching behind them, embroiled in a struggle with a woman and another man from the next row.

This, Daniel thought, was more interesting than some conference between the pitcher and the catcher. Attending a baseball game came with its own set of behaviors, one of which was trying to get a ball when possible. These balls were, of course, trophies. Human nature came with an innate desire for trophies. When Daniel had last mentioned this to Jack, his partner made an insightful comment about Daniel’s artifacts. Daniel considered himself to be a reflective person, but as everyone else had blind spots regarding his own characterization.

The woman sat back, out of the contest. This encouraged the young girl, eight or nine years old by Daniel’s guess, who sat next to Jack’s remaining competitor. “C’mon, Daddy!” she cheered.

Jack half looked up to see her eager face, and then gracefully allowed himself to lose while still putting on a show that he was trying to win. When the other man finally had a secure hold on the ball, he mouthed a little ‘thanks.’ Jack just nodded and turned back around.

“Here you go, sweetie.”

“Yay, Daddy!”

Daniel gave Jack’s arm a squeeze, just to convey that he knew what had happened. Jack swiped a nacho and went back to watching the game. “A half-trained monkey wouldn’t have swung at that,” he complained as the batter struck out.

“You think monkeys could play baseball?”

Jack shrugged. “Elephants can paint. I’m not saying monkeys would appreciate the intricacies of the game, mind you.”

“Of course not,” muttered Daniel. “They’d be too busy wondering why the crazy people were throwing balls at them at eighty-five miles an hour.”

His partner abandoned that line of thought to signal the popcorn boy. Daniel didn’t think much of baseball stadium popcorn, but Jack insisted it was part of the experience. He also figured that if Daniel didn’t want much, well, that was more for him.

Jack exchanged his cash for popcorn and turned his attention to the game just in time to see the center fielder contort his body in a truly impressive manner in order to snatch the ball just before it sailed over the fence into home run territory. Daniel might not share this love of sports, but he knew a remarkable athletic feat when he saw one. Well, he had for the past ten years, since it was mostly Jack’s influence.

“Damn,” said Jack between clusters of popcorn. “Not even a hit this inning.”

“The Rockies are still winning.”

“Only by one.”

This was clearly one of the moments that called for a conscious effort not to think too hard about the mindset of baseball. Daniel listened to Jack speculate on how much longer the Rockies’ pitcher would stay on the mound, not particularly concerned with the pitcher or his stats that season. He was happy just to hear Jack’s easy, content tone and enthusiasm.

Which, he supposed, was more or less how Jack responded to topics like eastern European folk songs. He wondered if they would be in costumes. Costumes offended him on principle. Traditional dress was fine – he was all for that, if it was more or less what people still wore. But if they wore Levis and tee shirts he’d rather see people in their authentic clothing. Folk music was a heritage. While it wasn’t his area of focus, he understood its significance and was glad that people were working to preserve unique songs in the global age. What bothered Daniel was the idea that folk music had to be unchanging, that somehow the ‘folk’ were a distillation of all the accumulated history of a people. People changed, cultures changed. In his opinion, to deny that was to deny not only the realities of the present but the dignity and individuality of the past.

On the field, the pitcher threw two balls in a row. “So maybe I was a little optimistic,” admitted Jack. “At this rate he won’t last the inning.”

Daniel took his obligatory handful of popcorn and shrugged. He never came for the game, and Jack knew it.

* * *

 

Jack had never been a fan of ordering hotel room service. He still wasn’t. It never made much sense to him when he could get the same food for significantly less money if he went down a few floors.

Daniel did not share this view; he thought room service was a great luxury. And Jack always caved because Daniel found breakfast in bed to be a sensual lead-in to lazy, morning-in-bed sex.

Checkout was at 1100. They had plenty of time. He’d ordered pancakes solely for the maple syrup. Jack had never been a particularly oral lover. Not besides kissing, anyway. But give him something sweet to lick, and that added a whole other dimension. He couldn’t explain it. Fortunately Daniel didn’t ask him to. Moreover, Daniel had no objections to various sugary liquids being applied to his body, if it meant they got licked off.

He pulled his jeans on just long enough to collect their food. Daniel eyed him speculatively as he shucked the jeans again and got back into bed.

“See anything you like?” asked Jack with a slight leer.

“Mmm. Dessert,” mumbled Daniel between sips of coffee. “You’re gorgeous, cariad.”

Evidently, they were going the sappy route this morning. “You’re one to talk,” he replied, carefully setting aside the maple syrup. “It’s why I listened to folk music last night, you know.”

“I’m not sure of the connection, but alright.”

He’d hoped the connection would be obvious, but forged ahead with the best explanation he could come up with. “You get this happy look, you know? And it’s worth listening to weird gobbledygook because I can see you, sorta, I dunno, glowing with your cultural experience.”

Daniel pulled him in for a kiss. “God, I love you, Jack,” he said when they pulled apart to breathe.

“Love you too. Time to fuel up to show you.” He cut into his pancakes, still keeping one eye on Daniel’s nicely kissed lips.

“Excellent plan. This is why you’re the tactician in this relationship.”

“I try to earn my keep.”

Daniel laughed, one of his happy little carefree laughs that made Jack smile every time. That laugh did things to him. Good things. “You just keep walking the dog in the mornings so I can sleep in.”

“Deal,” replied Jack. “Speaking of which, how do you think T’s making out with Zelda?” Teal’c wasn’t exactly an animal person. He was a home theater system person, however, so he was willing to give dogsitting a shot. And he took his commitments seriously, so Jack wasn’t worried about Zelda. She might think she had it rough because he and Daniel spoiled her and Teal’c probably wouldn’t, but she’d be well taken care of. Besides, they were only in Denver for two days, and the Bucklins were right next door.

“I’m trying to picture his reaction when she sits on his feet,” said Daniel, who then proceeded to smile around a mouthful of omelet at the mental image.

That was a great favorite of Zelda’s. She liked to think, anyway, that she had you pinned down and now you had no choice but to pat her for as long as she wanted. “I can imagine the eyebrow action,” decided Jack.

Daniel saw an opening and swiped a chunk of pancake. “Hey!” protested Jack. “I was gonna eat that.” This was the downside of relaxing around someone, of really, totally, letting them into your space. His space wasn’t enough, now it was his breakfast too.

“You don’t want me running out of energy any time soon, do you?”

Jack consoled himself by deciding that sometimes, even if you lose, you really win.


	3. Part III

By the time Jack was through with the salesman at Radio Shack, Daniel felt sorry for the kid. Jack knew next to nothing about GPSs, but he refused on principle to be an uninformed consumer. He felt strongly that it was the best way to get swindled. At last, to the great relief of the Radio Shack employee, Jack was satisfied.

Cassie was planning a road trip with her best friend before the summer camp she worked at started. Neither of the young women had a GPS. Jack did not trust desolate, unfamiliar stretches of road with Cassandra’s safety, lest she get lost in the middle of nowhere. Daniel had pointed out, reasonably to his mind, that people had been taking road trips with maps for decades, but Jack insisted. Cassie was getting a GPS, and that was that.

“I think the poor kid is watching to make sure you’re really going,” he said, softly enough so only Jack could hear.

“I’m not forking over three hundred bucks without making sure I’m getting my money’s worth,” huffed Jack.

Having at length procured the GPS, it was time for Daniel’s errand. Sue Thibodeau and Peggy Kline had decided that Amanda Wilson needed a baby shower. The phrase ‘baby shower’ had caused concern among some of the male members of the Archaeology, Anthropology and Linguistics department. Sue and Peggy promised it would just be cake and giving gifts. A homemade cake, they added, not from the mess hall. Having thus secured attendance, they also said that Amanda didn’t need sixteen teddy bears for presents.

For those who knew nothing about babies, Sue had handed out a list of stores. Any place on the list, she said, was a good place to pick up a gift card if they didn’t know what else to get. The Children’s Place was in the Chapel Hills Mall, so The Children’s Place it was.

“Maybe we should’ve gotten ourselves a GPS while we were there,” mused Daniel as they walked.

“What for?” asked Jack. “We don’t need one.”

“Cassandra needs one but we don’t?”

“If I couldn’t read a map and tell east from west, I wouldn’t be here,” pronounced Jack with an air of finality.

“What about north from south?”

“Smartass.”

A minute later, Jack asked, “Feel like an Orange Julius?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll just…”

“Get me a regular one. I’ll be right back.”

Daniel wasn’t sure if Jack really wanted Orange Julius, or he didn’t especially want to go into The Children’s Place. No matter. It just took a minute to get the gift card. Much, much easier than trying to pick out baby clothes, to be certain.

Jack was sipping his own Orange Julius when Daniel returned. “I can’t believe what kids are wearing these days,” he said, handing over Daniel’s drink.

Following Jack’s gaze, Daniel could only agree. “What’s the point of a belt if they get one two sizes too big? It’s hard to believe those girls are giving them the time of day.”

“The ones dressed like hookers?”

“Jack!”

“What? It’s true.”

Sadly, it was. Daniel could only be grateful that, if Cassie had ever wanted to dress like that, she grew out of it while Janet was around to make sure she didn’t leave the house half-dressed.

* * *

 

Cassie and her friend Jenny were leaving the next morning for their road trip and would be gone over two weeks. Sam had agreed to take care of Praxa, Cassie’s dog. She wasn’t really a dog person, but she liked Praxa well enough. Cassie had named her after a Hankan mythical figure (to Daniel’s delight) who was always happy, and with good reason. The main problem with a dog, as far as Sam was concerned, was that it meant she couldn’t stay very late when she was working on something interesting. It was at least easier for Daniel to bring his work home. She rarely had that luxury.

They had some special news for Cassie, so the five of them met for dinner at Sam’s. After dinner, Jack (who was still disappointed that dessert was ice cream and not cheesecake) surprised everyone but Daniel but handing Cassie a GPS.

“Don’t want you getting lost,” he said.

Cassie’s eyes widened. “Oh, you shouldn’t have!”

“That’s what the Radio Shack employee thought too, I bet,” noted Daniel. Sam could only imagine Jack buying a GPS, but it wasn’t a pretty picture. Jack felt it was his right as a consumer to know every single thing about any purchase he made. He’d been a nightmare at alien bazaars.

“Thank you. Really. Wow.”

Teal’c looked on approvingly. Jack might be the closest Cassie had to a father figure, but in his own way Teal’c was no less protective.

Cassie was an astonishingly perceptive young woman. “There’s something,” she began, then paused and started again. “You’re all waiting for something.”

Sam nodded. “Our third ship is almost done,” she began without preamble. Cassie hadn’t known about the Prometheus-class ships, but didn’t seem very surprised. “It will launch next month. They went with our suggestion for a name.”

“It was a choice supported by most SGC personnel,” added Teal’c.

“The _Janet Fraiser_ ,” finished Sam.

“Mom,” whispered Cassie. “A ship named after Mom.”

Daniel had come up with a further great idea. “We want you to christen it.”

“Me?”

“Jack talked to the right people.”

“It was Daniel’s idea,” said Jack.

Cassie swiped away a rouge tear. “She always said there would be all kinds of things named after you guys.”

“We had the whole mountain behind us.” Sam leaned over and gave Cassie a hug.

“Didn’t give them much of a choice for the name, really,” said Jack.

“I’m going to be an emotional wreck in front of everyone!” protested Cassie, somewhat half-heartedly.

“You’ll do a great job.” Sam wasn’t just saying that; she really believed that Cassandra would do them all proud. And while Sam wasn’t much for religion, she hoped that there was some kind of afterlife, just so she could think of Janet looking down and seeing the wonderful young woman her daughter had become, and watch her christen the ship. 

It had been Sam’s idea to see of they could get the next ship named after Janet, who besides being a talented doctor was also a dear friend. Jack and Daniel were quick to help. Jack went so far as to ask Davis for advice on how to best convince the right people. Teal’c had taken it upon himself to inform other SGC personnel and had, in fact, made a personal mission out of collecting signatures of support.

“Thank you,” whispered Cassie. “I know it’s silly, but I feel like we have a little more of her back with us this way.”

“You’re not the first one to think that,” Daniel told her, and it was obvious that he could back it up with examples from other cultures.

Realistically, Sam knew the idea made no sense. It was a nice thought, though. She wished the world worked like that.

* * *

 

Daniel was working on a particularly hard but intriguing translation of a monument SG-8 had documented. It seemed that the language was an odd fusion of Egyptian hieroglyphs and the Greek alphabet, and those were such different systems that his progress was slow going. He was, however, captivated both by the language itself and the potential implications for the culture that produced it.

“Daniel?”

He looked up and saw Sarah in the doorway. “Come in.”

Daniel was happy to see that his staff had welcomed Sarah. She had been at SGC only a week, but seemed to be fitting in nicely. He’d been keeping an eye out, and while he still needed to see how well she handled some situations (her first dig offworld being the biggest one) he thought that she was settling in well. He had helped her find a decent apartment in a nice neighborhood and promised to help in any way he could. He hadn’t loved Sarah; they didn’t make it together long enough to get that far. Still, he’d never wished her anything but the best, and she’d turned to him after Osiris because she had nobody else who could understand.

There was only so much he could do, though. It would have been kinder if Osiris had blocked all of her memories, but of course the Goa’uld were not noted for their kindness. Sarah had to muddle through something nobody really knew how to relate to. Even Jack and Sam, who’d both served as Tok’ra hosts, couldn’t begin to relate to the prolonged trauma Sarah had endured.

It could only help, though, that his people were good to her, and not just because it was expected of them. Everyone was genuinely glad to have another knowledgeable archaeologist, and though nobody dared mention Osiris they were all helpful. Greg Rawling had been pleased to have an audience who hadn’t yet heard his unique, sarcastic monologue on Air Force paperwork and bureaucracy. Daniel had heard Sue Thibodeau sharing the trick to opening the storage cabinet which stuck and advising where to get a good pedicure. Trevor Voss, only too happy to have another vegetarian around, was explaining the best – or least offensive – vegetarian options on base and good restaurants in town. And, if an overheard lunch conversation was anything to go by, Sarah and Paul Davis were fast becoming friends through a mutual interest in obscure French poets.

Sarah had changed, of course. How could her experience not change her? Some things were more obvious than others: she hadn’t been a vegetarian before, but right after Osiris was removed she refused to eat meat. She tried eating sausage links, said it reminded her of eating larval Goa’uld, and that was the end of meat. Also, she refused any alcohol. That made sense; she’d been robbed of her control of her own body, so naturally she didn’t want to drink anything that might make her lose control again. She had been driven and competitive, and while now she was as hard a worker as ever she wasn’t looking for external validation. She was just looking for peace.

“We’ve finished cleaning those shards,” she told him. “After lunch I’ll start putting them together.”

“Great.” Cleaning the pottery shards in question had been no small job, since they were fragile and the delicate etchings had been packed with dirt. “Let me know how it goes.”

“I will.”

Setting his translation aside for a moment, he asked, “Are you still glad you came back?”

“Yes. It’s not always easy,” she admitted, “but I am. Leaving was a mistake.”

“Oh?” Daniel wasn’t convinced. Her time away had centered her a little, and she seemed more comfortable in her own skin. Besides, just because _staying_ somewhere wasn’t right didn’t mean _being_ there had been wrong.

“I wanted to forget, to go back. I thought if I worked hard enough, I could. But all I ended up doing was living a lie, knowing I was teaching false information.”

“I’d like to teach, if and when we go public,” he said, “but I couldn’t now. Not with everything I know.”

“Also, I need to make something good come out of it. I need…” she took a moment to find the right words, “I need to be more than a victim.”

“You are,” promised Daniel. “You’re a good archaeologist. And now that you’re here you’ll end up helping to save the world sooner or later.”

Sarah gave him a little smile. “I’m in no rush to save the world, Daniel.”

“It has a way of sneaking up on you.”

Her eyebrows rose a bit in response, an amused gesture from her. Coming back to SGC was moving Sarah from surviving to living, and Daniel was glad.

* * *

 

In his entire career, Jack had never met anyone who celebrated a successful mission the way Teal’c did: applying himself to a thorough mission report right away while all the details were still fresh in his mind. True, Daniel liked to write in his journals, but that wasn’t the same. What Daniel wrote in his field journals tended to focus more on the meaning-of-life stuff.

Teal’c’s pleasure in the successful mission, if strangely expressed, was not undeserved. SG-28 had teamed up with SG-3 to blow up an old base that had originally been built by Cronus and, until that afternoon, had been used by Telchak. As usual, Teal’c had his Jaffa revenge thing going, thrilled to destroy something Cronus built. Jack had no doubt that a long and highly detailed mission report would be waiting for him in the morning.

It was just about time to go home, but first Jack decided to swing by Sam’s lab. He wanted to make sure the Air Force was getting its money’s worth out of the ridiculously expensive new computers purchased for the physicists’ data processing and calculations. And while he was there, he figured he’d see how the dogsitting was going.

These plans were derailed when he found Sam staring off over her computer screen, clearly in some kind of funk.

“Carter?” he asked. They stuck with the formalities on base.

She jerked out of her reverie, guilty. “Sir.”

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“The little clouds of gloom would suggest otherwise.”

“Just… thinking.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Everything okay?”

It clearly wasn’t. She shrugged. “Officially? Yes.”

“Unofficially?”

“I got used to having it all, career-wise,” admitted Sam. “I worked up to my own command, and I still had my lab. Now…” she trailed off, looking away.

“It’s been close to a year,” observed Jack. But the latest successful mission clearly had her thinking about the days when she’d have been out there, blowing up the base.

“I know. Don’t you still miss it?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I kinda saw it coming, though.”

Sam nodded, not reassured. Jack felt he was expected to say something more, and the only thing he had was the truth. “You were a good SG team leader. But I’ve got other good SG team leaders. I don’t have any other genius astrophysicists.”

“That didn’t used to matter.”

“No,” admitted Jack. “When the Goa’uld were a bigger threat, it didn’t. Things changed. Now we weigh up your value in the field versus here, and…”

“I get it,” she said.

“I know. Doesn’t make it any more fun.”

“I’m not throwing myself a pity party,” she retorted defensively.

“Then you’re a better officer than I was.”

That was all, but that was enough. She knew that he got what she was feeling, really got it. And with that, she promptly changed the subject. “The new computers are amazing. We’re processing data at almost twice the speed.”

He thought back to her convincing arguments about getting the new computers. _Twice_ the speed? Nope, pretty sure he’d remember that. “You do know all your tinkering voids the warranty, right?”

She just gave him a self-satisfied smirk. “Data’s too classified. These are never leaving the mountain.”

“We’re lucky you use your powers for good,” he conceded reluctantly. Sam gracefully refrained from overt gloating.

* * *

 

Paul was a happy man. He really liked Ray, and while it was early days yet he thought they had definite potential. Therefore, he was pleased to be spending his Saturday with Ray, catching a movie and then having dinner.

Tickets and popcorn in hand, they were walking towards their screen when Paul heard familiar voices.

“It was very authentic. Nothing seemed forced.”

“How could it? Nothing _happened_.” A second after making that pronouncement, O’Neill spotted Paul.

“General,” said Paul dutifully. “Dr. Jackson.”

“Davis.” O’Neill recognized Ray, of course, and looked distinctly pleased with the results of his… interference. Paul supposed there were worse things than a CO who had no qualms about interfering to the benefit of his love life. After all, he’d been given tacit approval to have a homosexual relationship, and that was no small thing.

Clearly introductions were called for, as the general appeared in no rush to leave. “Sir, Doctor Jackson, this is Ray Tierney. Ray, General Jack O’Neill, Dr. Daniel Jackson.”

Ray shook their hands. “General?” he repeated, giving Paul a slightly worried glance.

“Retired,” said O’Neill affably. “Hope your movie is better than the one we saw.”

“If nothing explodes, it’s boring. If something explodes, four times out of five they did it wrong.” Jackson shook his head. “I’ve given up.”

“Have fun,” said O’Neill.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Take care,” echoed Jackson.

“Pleasure meeting you,” Ray said.

The movie debate continued as O’Neill and Jackson walked away, the latter still trying to make his point. “It was about the people. The acting was very good. You have to admit, in that scene…”

“So, a general.” Ray flashed their tickets at the attendant before continuing, “that’s not a problem, is it? I mean, the two of them looked together…” he trailed off, looking uncertain.

“They are,” confirmed Paul. “There’s no problem.”

“So, he’s retired and you still have to call him ‘sir’?”

“It’s slightly complicated.” They found good seats and settled in, whispering even though they were early and there were only a couple of other people in the theater. “He retired from the Air Force.”

“One guess as to why?” asked Ray wryly.

Paul nodded. “But his expertise is unique. He’s a civilian, but kept the same job.”

“I didn’t know the military did that.”

“As a rule, no.”

Ray accepted that Paul couldn’t talk about his job. He asked questions about what he could, trying not to pry but also trying to understand Paul’s world. Or that was how it seemed to Paul, at least.

“So, that makes things a little easier for you, right?”

“It does. Better than most.”

“Good.”

If it was a better world, neither of them would have had to worry. Ray in his own way had to be discreet because of ridiculous fears people had about impressionable youth and the evils of homosexuality. Paul had to be discreet because of ridiculous fears people had that somehow the Air Force would fall apart at the seams if everyone wasn’t straight. But, since he did have it better than most gay men in the military, Paul mentally pushed that aside and watched the previews. He wanted to see if any promising date movies were coming out soon.

* * *

 

Daniel could smell the chicken as soon as he walked through the front door. Probably Shake ‘n’ Bake, knowing Jack.

He obligingly petted Zelda, then went looking for Jack. He found his partner lost in thought, sitting on the couch holding a picture of Charlie with a fish. This wasn’t one of the framed ones out on display. Daniel guessed Charlie was only four of five in the photo.

Daniel slid down and looked at the picture, taking in the photo-Jack’s pride in his son’s catch and Charlie’s obvious delight. This was the last part of Jack’s life he’d been let into. Charlie was at the core of Jack, a fiercely guarded part of him.

Jack didn’t want platitudes. He couldn’t let just anyone in to share Charlie, because it hurt too much. But the reason it still hurt was because he’d loved his son so much, and Jack sometimes needed to share that. Daniel knew these things, and he just pointed to the fish. “What kind is it?”

“Brown trout.”

“One you eat?”

“Delicious. But he and Sara had just read a book about a fish, so he insisted on throwing this one back.”

This kind of acceptance, understanding, and trust was at the heart of them as a couple. Sometimes, Jack just wanted to lose himself in a pleasant memory, and Daniel was honored to share the memory. They understood each other in this.

Jack’s lips curved in a hint of a smile. “He named the fish Bert.”

“Bert?”

“After the Sesame Street character. Then I got a pickerel. Ugly suckers. Too bony to be worth eating, too. Anyway, he named that one Oscar the Grouch.”

Daniel chuckled at that. “How many Sesame Street characters did you go through?”

“Only those two. Didn’t catch any more after that.”

They shared a companionable silence for a moment longer before Jack put the picture down and stood up. “Time to nuke the broccoli.”

This happened almost every time. Jack reached a point where he couldn’t recall the pleasant memories of Charlie’s life without the despair of his death. And just like that, he changed the subject.

Before his partner could walk away, Daniel tugged him back down on the couch. “The broccoli can wait.” Then he kissed Jack, a slow and gentle melding of their mouths. When they drew apart to breathe, he said, “I’ve been looking forward to that.”

For this Jack was only too happy to leave the broccoli languishing in the freezer. He settled in with one arm around Daniel, who grabbed the other hand. “Rough day?”

Daniel nodded. “Nothing major. Just one of those days where everybody needed a piece of me.” SG-14 wanted to be able to read some basic Goa’uld, which was a good idea in light of their barely escaping an old bunker after triggering the self-destruct. Sarah wanted to discuss possible interpretations of the artifacts they’d found on P2Z-048. Nyan needed help with a translation. Trevor Voss wanted to talk about a journal article he’d found outrageous and Daniel hadn’t even read. Colonel Fisk was convinced his team had found a treasure map when in fact they’d found a map showing the best way to avoid crocodiles. His opinion on UAV footage was requested for five different planets. And that was all before lunch.

Jack understood this kind of draining day perfectly. “Never enough of you to go around.”

“No.” But at home, like this, just _being_ was enough. They didn’t even need to continue the conversation then, because the only necessity was presence.

For years he’d tried to catch up, to get enough accomplished so that he could be done and rest. That was doomed to fail because there was always more to be done that he could do, good staff and all. It turned out that the key, all along, had been knowing how to call it a day and head home. He’d taken a ridiculously long time to figure that one out, but then Daniel had always been a great believer in ‘better late than never.’

Which was fortunate, because with neither of them inclined to move, that broccoli was very definitely going to be late.

* * *

 

Jack had spent his entire day doing paperwork, so he’d only been too happy to leave the mountain and enjoy the spring evening. This had resulted in an extra-long walk which pleased Zelda greatly. Daniel had started the walk venting his frustration about the compartmentalization of knowledge in academia, but somewhere along the way had segued into amusing anecdotes from digs he’d been on.

The scarab beetle jokes didn’t make any sense to Jack, but he found the stories of practical jokes much more amusing. There were rules, of course, at least as far as Daniel was concerned. Mostly, Thou Shalt Not In Any Way Contaminate the Body of Evidence, but Thou Shalt Show Proper Respect was pretty important too. Not that this was news to Jack.

On the other hand, Daniel had been on digs with some interesting characters, especially in his grad student days. “You guys really turned your sheets into togas?” he asked.

“And read Greek poetry,” added his boyfriend.

Jack shook his head. “Is this normal for grad students exposed to local alcohol?”

“I never asked anyone else,” admitted Daniel. “Anyway, it’s all fun and games until the professor drops in.”

“Not impressed by your ability to read ancient Greek while tipsy?”

“Not even a little.”

It was hard to imagine Daniel like that. “What happened?”

“He led a group discussion comparing various cultures’ perspectives on excess versus moderation.”

“Hardly punishment to you,” noted Jack.

Daniel shrugged. “I was the soberest of the bunch.” Unsurprising as far as Jack was concerned. Daniel wasn’t a big drinker by any stretch of the imagination. “But for grad students, making a fool of yourself in front of your adviser is punishment enough. And some of them did.”

Taking into account what Daniel had told him over the years about how cutthroat academia could be, particularly when it came to getting financed, Jack supposed that could be a bad situation.

They stopped at the mailbox. Daniel retrieved the contents and flipped through them, thrilled to see a new archaeology journal. “We’ve got a postcard from Cassie,” he said.

Jack leaned over to see. She’d sent them a landscape with _Wyoming Black Hills_ along the bottom to let them know what they were looking at. Daniel flipped the postcard and Jack read over his shoulder:

_Hi Jack and Daniel,_

_Having a great time. The_ _GPS_ _is making our lives easier, thanks again. Yesterday we found a little stand with the best homemade candy. The scenery is nice, but I’m really looking forward to_ _Mt._ _Rushmore_ _._

_Love,_

_Cassie_

“Homemade candy,” Jack said, wishing he had some. Zelda meanwhile prodded his hand with her nose, apparently deciding that if they were going to stand still he might as well pet her.

“It’s interesting that we never encountered anything quite like Mt. Rushmore,” mused Daniel, eyeing his journal. Jack was spared further consideration of this when Alana’s car pulled in next door and Zelda wanted to say hello. He obligingly followed her next door.

To Jack’s surprise, it was Kelly who got out of the driver’s seat. “Hi,” she said.

“You’re driving now?” asked Daniel.

“I got my permit,” said Kelly happily.

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Now if I could just drive without Mom freaking out…”

“I’m not supposed to enjoy this,” insisted a tense Alana. “It’s a well-known fact of motherhood.”

“Are you supposed to point out every red light?”

“Until you start slowing down earlier, yes.”

“I didn’t run any red lights.”

“Just a risk of whiplash.”

Kelly rolled her eyes and knelt down to rub Zelda’s stomach, which always went over well.

When Alana accompanied him to the benefit that winter, she’d mentioned not having been out like that much since her husband passed. Jack thought about that for a second, wondering if Kelly had anyone else who could help her learn to drive. Cassandra had insisted that she couldn’t relax enough to learn when she drove with her mother or Sam, which was how Jack had ended up teaching her.

“I could take you out,” he offered.

Both the Bucklin women looked up at him. “Really?” asked Kelly.

“That’s very generous,” said Alana. “Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?”

“Yeah. I taught Cassandra to drive.”

Daniel clarified, “She’s sort of like a niece to us.”

“If you really don’t mind…” Alana trailed off, sounding like she hardly could believe her luck.

“No. Trust me, after my career, a rookie driver is nothing.”

“Thank you!” Kelly was just as pleased as her mother.

“Saturday afternoon work for you?”

Kelly looked at her mother. “Can we use the car?”

“And thus it starts,” said Alana. “Yes.”

“How’s 12:30?”

“Great. Thanks so much!”

“Sure.”

“See you then,” he said, ready to go home and eat.

“Thank you,” said Alana again. “And watch out for sudden stops.”

“No problem.”

As they made their way home, Daniel mused, “You didn’t think it was nothing when Teal’c was learning to drive.”

“Teal’c was driving that van like it was a mothership, and we were trying not to call attention to ourselves.” And when Teal’c was on a ship as First Prime, others had made way for him. Not to mention that in space it was easy to turn on a dime, unlike in large and not especially well maintained vans.

Under other circumstances Daniel probably would’ve had a comeback for that, but his attention had been won by the latest archaeology journal. He was already utilizing his well-honed skills to read and walk at the same time. Jack figured it was going to be up to him to get dinner going, since he wanted to eat sooner rather than later.

One of these days he hoped to convince Daniel that man could not live on the written word alone.

* * *

 

Kelly knew that she wasn’t exactly a natural driver, though it pained her to admit it. But she didn’t know how she was supposed to get any better driving with her mom. It was another thing that made Kelly miss her dad even more. If he were still alive, she thought, he’d be a better teacher than her mom. Oh, her mom tried, Kelly knew that. But driving was too stressful with a nervous wreck of a mother making her drive 25 mph in a 35 mph zone, insisting she pull over to let all the irate cars pass her, and constantly making panicky gasps.

General O’Neill slid into the passenger seat of her mom’s car without acting like he expected to crash any minute, which Kelly took as a good sign. He watched while she adjusted the seat and mirrors.

“Okay, start the car,” she murmured to herself. She turned the key and the car came to life. General O’Neill was unbothered. “Mom’s already fretting at this point,” Kelly told him. “Thanks again, General O’Neill. I really appreciate it.”

“Jack,” he said.

Kelly had been washing pollen off the windshield. “What?”

“You can call me Jack.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know quite how to respond to that. Her parents had taught her to address adults with a title unless invited to do otherwise, but honestly, the ‘invited to do otherwise’ part hadn’t come up until just then. “Okay. Are we ready to go?”

“Make sure you and your passengers have seatbelts on.”

She had hers, and a quick check revealed that he did too. “We’re good.”

“Let’s start with a trip around the block, so I can see how you handle the car.”

“Right. Okay, put it in drive,” she said. “Um, I sort of talk myself through driving.”

“Whatever helps.”

She eased off the brake and the car slowly rolled up to the end of the driveway. “Take a right,” said the general. There were no cars coming, so she was clear…

“You’re forgetting your blinker,” said the general.

“Crap!” That wasn’t good. As soon as she made a mistake, she got all flustered. It never helped that her mom practically started hyperventilating.

It helped, she decided, that General – that Jack didn’t freak out. “It’s alright. You’ll make mistakes, Kelly. That’s the whole point of this exercise. You’ve just gotta keep driving till this stuff becomes habit.”

She took a deep breathe, put her blinker on, and exhaled. “Okay.”

“Ready?”

As ready as she was going to get. Somehow, Kelly had never imagined that driving would be quite so _hard_.  She checked for traffic again and pulled out into the road.

“A little wide on the turn, but not bad. Keep going straight, we have the right of way through this intersection.”

Wow, they’d even made it through an intersection and he was still calm. She decided that driving with Jack was way, way easier than driving with her mom.

“Take a right at this next intersection.”

This time, she remembered her blinker.

“Might want to slow down a little.”

“I’m not speeding,” she reassured him, then hoped she didn’t sound too defensive.

“I know, but there’s a group of kids playing close to the road.”

That made sense, so she dutifully dropped five mph off her speed. “This okay?”

“Yep. Thing with driving is, it’s all about the observation. The earlier you see something, the better chance you have of avoiding an accident. Now, try putting on the brake a little earlier this time, slow and steady.”

Kelly was starting to think she could actually do this.

* * *

 

Somehow, Jack had ended up with mud on his dress shoes. Over a year as a civilian and he still hadn’t gotten used to dress shoes. In fact, his required wardrobe was the only thing he didn’t like about retirement. He set his limits, at least. Dress shirts and slacks? Fine. He got the kind that didn’t need to be ironed. Dress shoes? Tolerable, all things considered. But the ties (all two of them) only made appearances when some bigwig came to the mountain.

Oh, right. He remembered where the mud came from. SG-14 had trampled mud all around the gate room the previous afternoon. Jack put down the left shoe, picked up the right, and promptly dropped it back down. He didn’t know what noise Daniel just made, but it sounded vaguely strangled and could in no way be considered good.

He rushed to the bathroom where Daniel was staring at the mirror in abject horror. “You okay?” he asked, even though it seemed like a dumb question. But then, Daniel _looked_ fine.

“Look at this.”

Jack found himself staring at the top of his lover’s head. “It’s your head.”

“The hair, Jack.”

“Ye-es,” he said, still not getting it.

“Two gray hairs!”

Ah. This explained everything. All things considered, Jack considered that Daniel had done damned well to have nearly made it to his forty-second birthday with nary a gray hair. He himself hadn’t been so fortunate. Neither had Sam, who was a couple years younger than Daniel and got gray hair first, a fact about which Jack had once overheard her bitterly complaining.

He went for reassuring. “You can barely see them.”

“But they’re _there_.”

“Well, yes.” No getting around that one.

“And they’re going to multiply.”

“Unfortunately.” Of course, Jack still held that the rate of his own graying was in no small part advanced by worrying about his team and Daniel in particular, so maybe Daniel wouldn’t go gray so fast.

Daniel scowled. “You’re not helping.”

What was he supposed to do, tell bald-faced lies? “They don’t matter to me,” he promised.

“No?”

“Not a damn bit.”

“That’s good,” mused Daniel, not entirely reconciled to this new development but no longer scowling as fiercely.

“You said gray hair is sexy.” Well. Years ago, when they were just friends, the word had been ‘distinguished.’ Sexy came later.

“Yours is silver. This – this is gray.”

Semantics, Jack thought. “Yeah, well, I’m gonna think you’re sexy till the day I die, whatever you call it.”

Daniel turned for a kiss. “Thank you. It still sucks, but thank you.” He finished running the comb through his hair and left the bathroom.

There had been times – too many times – when Jack thought Daniel wouldn’t live to have gray hair.

“Daniel?” asked Jack, returning to his muddy right shoe while Daniel filled his travel mug with coffee.

“Yes?”

“I’m with you that getting older sucks, but,” he paused for a second, considering his words, “it beats the alternative, you know?”

“You’re right, of course.”

His lover wasn’t entirely on board, and Jack got that. He’d been there. All the same, considering how many times Daniel had been temporarily dead, a couple of gray hairs were nothing. Besides, they were doing the whole getting old together thing. Not as much fun as being young together, perhaps, but a hell of a lot better than getting old alone.


	4. Part IV

There had been five people in the weight room, but within a minute and a half of Teal’c’s entrance only O’Neill remained. Teal’c came to the inescapable conclusion that he was making his displeasure apparent. He had learned over the years not to take it personally that he could so easily intimidate so many of the base personnel. It was not just because he was Jaffa. O’Neill in an unpleasant mood could also empty a room with astonishing speed, and in fact seemed proud of it.

O’Neill was predictable in his approach. He continued to bench-press steadily and allowed Teal’c a few minutes of rapid leg-presses. Teal’c used this time to wonder why he had ever developed affection for a woman as infuriating as Ishta.

“What’s up?” asked his friend casually.

“You have informed me on more than one occasion that I will never understand women.”

“My position hasn’t changed.”

“Life was much easier when I was not obligated to attempt understanding.”

Colonel Carter had never approved of male-dominated societies. She, more than anyone else, had done much to show him the value of women as equals. That did not mean Teal’c relished all aspects of equality. Drey’auc had been bound to obey him. Ishta had no such responsibilities and did not hesitate to remind him of that fact. Perplexingly, much of what drew him to Ishta was her spirit. It was what enabled her to defy the Goa’uld, something Drey’auc had done only when there was no alternative.

“What’s Ishta got you for now?” inquired O’Neill.

“My stubborn insistence on perpetuating chauvinism.”

O’Neill huffed in amusement. “Let me guess. She’s driving you crazy, but if she wasn’t the kind who could do that, you wouldn’t think twice about her.”

“You speak from experience, do you not?”

“Youbetcha.”

That news was not particularly comforting. Teal’c wished for a heavier setting on the leg press, the better to express his frustration. “She is personally offended that I wish Rya’c’s firstborn to be a son.”

At this O’Neill paused his own exercise. “Is Kar’yn pregnant?”

“No. For which I am grateful at this time.” It occurred to him that he ought to clarify that this was not due to Ishta’s stance, so he added, “They are quite young and have ample time for children. Now there is much work to be done so that their children might live well and free.”

“So, no grandkids soon.”

“No. However, it has long been tradition among my people to wish for a son.”

“Was here too, until not that long ago. Heck, it still is for some people.”

Teal’c was curious if his friend had wished for a son, but he would not expose O’Neill to emotional distress only to satisfy his curiosity. He would pursue this line of inquiry further on Google, and perhaps with Master Sergeant Siler if the man was willing.

“Ishta wants to change a lot of Jaffa traditions,” said O’Neill.

“Indeed.”

“But then so do you.”

“Yes. However, Ishta can be trying in her enthusiasm.” And yet, he was still very fond of her.

“T, you’re a hero to most of your people. Ishta doesn’t care and she won’t cave because you say something. You need that.”

“As do you, O’Neill.” Daniel Jackson refused to be dominated, and O’Neill required that. O’Neill needed an equal, but few individuals were able to relate to him in such a manner. Teal’c could, but it was much different. They were brothers and warriors.

“This isn’t about me.”

“On the contrary, I believe that the phrase ‘it takes one to know one’ is most appropriate for this conversation.”

“I think if you end up with a granddaughter, she’ll have you wrapped around her little finger in no time,” declared O’Neill with confidence.

As much as Teal’c wished that he would, in due time, have a grandson, O’Neill was very likely correct.

* * *

 

The christening of a top-secret ship was, of necessity, a small affair. Cassandra had still worked up her nerves, but she’d done as fine a job christening the _Janet Fraiser_ as they all knew she would. George was very pleased that he’d been among the small group invited to the ceremony. Fraiser had been an amazing CMO and an inspiring woman. George had lost a lot of good people in his career, and he mourned for each of them. He had, unfortunately, lost far too many at SGC. It was the nature of the beast. But Fraiser was almost always in the relative safety of the base. She’d saved so many lives that it was cruel irony when nobody could save hers. Losing Janet Fraiser had hit George harder than most of the deaths that occurred on his watch.

In the grand scheme of things, naming a ship in her honor was next to nothing. And still, it mattered. It mattered to all the SGC personnel who threw their support behind naming the next ship after her. It mattered to SG-1. Most importantly of all, it mattered to Cassandra. The ship that bore Janet Fraiser’s name was a small way of telling the world that she was not forgotten.

George corrected himself. This was a spaceship, so they were telling the galaxy. Somehow that made him smile, because he thought Fraiser would’ve appreciated the difference.

After they returned to Peterson from Area 51, George, Sam, Cassie, Jack, Daniel and Teal’c were headed for the parking lot. Cassandra was flipping her phone shut, having made a call as soon as humanely possible.

“Brian?” asked Sam with a knowing grin.

Cassie smiled and nodded.

“Who’s this Brian?” asked Jack instantly.

“Ah, the guy I’ve been seeing.”

Jack was very interested in this information, of course. “When do we get to meet him?”

Cassie sighed. “I knew you were going to ask that.”

Jack just looked at her expectantly.

“When I’ve recovered from the shoelaces incident, okay?”

“That was a year ago,” protested Jack.

“It was regrettable,” conceded Teal’c.

“Regrettable? It was a disaster!” Cassie turned to explain to George, “These two,” she indicated Jack and Teal’c, “are a nightmare to introduce to guys.”

He could only imagine.

“I was the epitome of Tau’ri manners,” corrected Teal’c. “It was O’Neill who caused the young man to choke.”

“The kid had no sense of humor,” muttered Jack.

“Jack, you asked him if he knew how many ways there are to kill a person with their own shoelaces. It wasn’t funny,” corrected Daniel.

“You asked what?” George could hardly believe his ears. Jack was – well, Jack, but he knew when to rein himself in. He wouldn’t have made general if he lacked that ability. Unfortunately, it seemed his restraint didn’t extend to young men interested in Cassandra.

“It was _awful_ ,” said Cassie. “And Teal’c, you loomed. The entire time. Evan said he felt like he was under a microscope.”

“That’s the whole point,” declared Jack. “We’re making sure these guys are good enough for you.”

“I love you guys, but…” Cassandra trailed off and looked at George. “See what I have to put up with?”

He knew full well what she had to put up with. He’d dealt with it for seven years. However, he’d enjoyed the considerable advantage of rank. But even when Jack was creating headaches (like, oh, say, kidnapping visiting alien diplomats), George had never wanted anyone else for his 2IC.

Looking at Cassie, he got the distinct impression that even when she wanted to throttle some of them, she wouldn’t have anyone else for her family, either.

* * *

 

Jack returned home and found that Daniel had run out of space in his study. At least, that was the only conclusion he could draw from the fact that the hallway wall was now covered in a line of taped-together paper. “What’s this?” he asked.

“I’m making a timeline.”

“Dare I ask what of?”

“It’s for my book.”

Ah, the book. Daniel worked on his book in between the zillion other things he had going. He’d even given it a working title: _In Ra’s Dominion: A History of Ancient_ _Egypt_ _Under the Goa’uld._ Jack wasn’t sure it would be published anytime soon, but Daniel, ever the optimist, was undaunted by that detail.

“I could do it on the computer, but it’s easier to visualize this way,” continued Daniel, measuring off yards and marking them with a pencil. “How’d the driving lesson go?”

“It was more of a parking lesson. Parking on the left – fine. Parking on the right – not so good.”

Daniel finished writing ‘Rebellion: Ra overthrown’ at the right end of his timeline before asking, “Why is the right so much harder?”

“She hasn’t quite gotten the hang of swinging out then into the spot.” Personally, Jack was starting to realize that he’d been lucky to pick up driving so easily. Kelly would get there, but she was going to have to work at it more than he ever had.

“Oh,” said Daniel. “She’s not driving like it’s a mothership, at least.”

“I’d be worried if she was.”

Daniel chuckled and went back to his timeline.

“Zelda out?” asked Jack.

“I just put her out fifteen or twenty minutes ago.”

He figured he’d play with her after a snack. Eyeing the snack selections, Jack was torn. What he _wanted_ to snack on was a stack of Oreos. What he _should_ snack on was an apple. After brief consideration he decided to compromise on an apple and a couple of Oreos.

“Not long after you left,” said Daniel, meandering in from the hall, “Aunt Kate called.”

Jack would’ve asked how she was doing, but his mouth was full of apple and table manners happened to be an area where he was a credit to his mother.

“She has a cat,” Daniel informed while pulling out coffee grounds. “This cat showed up one day and never left. So Aunt Kate brought her to be spayed – she said one cat is company, but a litter of kittens would ruin her drapes – and named her Lily.”

“Dogs are better company.”

Having started the coffee machine, Daniel sat down and snagged an Oreo. “Cats can be good company, and it’s probably easier for Aunt Kate to take care of a cat than a dog.”

That was a reasonable enough point. “If she’s happy,” declared Jack between bites, “it’s good.” He’d call his aunt in a little while and hope she didn’t have many cat stories.

“She’s very happy. I think Lily is good for her.”

“Glad to hear it. Anything else going on?”

“Not with Aunt Kate. I’ve been working on my book. It’s hard because we really know so little about life under the Goa’uld. We can make educated guesses based on Abydos, but the body of evidence from Egypt is very small. Miniscule, really.”

“How about your urns?” suggested Jack. “More educated guesses?”

Daniel smiled, obviously pleased that Jack cared enough to remember these things. He did care enough – about Daniel and his passions, not about archaeology for its own sake. “Yes, that certainly helps. In a way, it’s too bad Steven didn’t find more at his dig site.”

Jack wasn’t entirely sure he agreed with that, but he’d taken a big bite of apple so Daniel just continued, “More artifacts might turn up that add to the body of evidence. I want this to be a serious scholarly work, not just a shock account about the Goa’uld.”

“Footnotes and all?”

“Publishers generally prefer endnotes.”

Jack figured it would be a surefire best seller. Once the stargate program was declassified, the public would want to know as much as possible. Publishers would probably let Daniel do whatever he wanted in order to be the ones who put out his book – provided, of course, that the program went public in his lifetime.

It satisfied Jack to know that eventually everyone would know what a genius Daniel was, and that the archaeological community which had scorned him would end up seeing him vindicated. That would happen sooner or later, probably within their lifetimes, although Jack sincerely hoped it was after he retired for good. In the meantime, he was enjoying the way Daniel’s face lit up with delight in his chosen profession.

* * *

 

When Sam finally emerged from her lab around 2100 hours, she was both starving and anxious to share her good news. Luckily for her, Teal’c was having a snack in the mess hall, which allowed her to address both.

Sure, she wouldn’t give Teal’c the gory scientific details. Eddie would get those in the morning. She was sparing him a phone call; he’d been working nearly nonstop helping Dr. Brightman develop an antivenom for SG-16 and deserved a decent stretch of sleep now that SG-16 was in the clear. But Teal’c was a very good listener, at least.

“Colonel Carter,” he greeted. “I recommend the peach cobbler.”

“It does look good,” she agreed before tucking in some of her turkey sandwich. After a couple of bites to fortify her, she announced, “I’m flying out to Area 51 tomorrow. We’re ready to put our version of the zat together.” She and Dr. Fenimore had finally gotten off the phone, satisfied they were ready at last.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” She was exhausted but running on the thrill of accomplishment. This was a huge breakthrough for Earth technology. She’d called Jack to get his permission to fly out, and he said that the Joint Chiefs were looking to start producing as soon as possible. For one thing, this was a public relations coup. Not only could the U.S. military claim the honor of finally making the long theorized energy weapon, but the potential to reduce civilian casualties was a big selling point.

“Have you decided upon a name for this weapon?” he asked.  

Sam couldn’t help but smirk while answering, “Zat gun.”

Teal’c raised one eyebrow slightly, clearly waiting for her explanation.

“Zero-point atomizing technology. ZAT.”

“This is an inside joke.” It was a question disguised as a statement.

“It sure is.” Hey, she and Fenimore were the lead developers. They got to call it whatever they wanted.

“Should it not be ZPAT?”

“Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”

“No,” agreed Teal’c, a gleam in his eye indicating he approved of the inside joke. “It does not.”

“So what have you been doing the last few days?” She’d been pretty much living and breathing the zat project.

“Presently, I am pondering the future of my people.”

This was nothing new. Teal’c devoted much of his free time to the Free Jaffa, mulling over how to put hard-won freedom to good use. Sam suspected that he sometimes found it much more frustrating and complicated than actually winning freedom in the first place. Battles Teal’c understood intrinsically. Nation-building he had to learn as he went.

“It’s a huge undertaking,” she said by way of response.

“It is indeed. There are many students and few teachers.”

“Students of what?”

“Topics to which Jaffa are unaccustomed. It is no small matter to feed a nation. In the past, this was not our concern. There are basic needs that must be met in order to maintain unity.”

“Food, water, shelter.” She got that. SGC had helped a lot, building a small city on the new Jaffa world that Bra’tac and Teal’c, though he downplayed his role, were building.

“We must teach our children to be more than warriors, and yet we know little else ourselves.”

She ventured to suggest, “It sounds to me like your people need a purpose.”

“That purpose is freedom.”

“Well,” Sam didn’t want to offend Teal’c, so she tried to phrase it delicately. “For you. But what about to the children who’re going to grow up free? They need… a vision, if you will. Something to work for.”

“Like your ‘American dream’?”

She shrugged. “Something like that. I might be interpreting this all wrong, but the way I see it, your people – your men, anyway - have always had ways to prove themselves. I’m straying into Daniel’s territory here, but I think maybe they… still need that,” she finished lamely. It was hard to come up with a nice way to say that a city full of frustrated, bored Jaffa sounded like the proverbial barrel of gunpowder.

Teal’c stood up, inclining his head. “You have given me much to think about, Colonel Carter. I appreciate your insight.”

“Glad to.”

He walked a few steps, then stopped. “I do not believe I have informed you, as I have O’Neill and Daniel Jackson. You are as a brother to me.”

Sam was flattered but confused. “Um…”

“Had I a sister, I would not have fought alongside her.”

Okay, that made sense, from what she knew of Jaffa culture. Ishta, of course, being the glaring exception. “Thank you, Teal’c. And you know, it goes both ways.” Actually, she was closer to Teal’c than to her brother. “So you don’t need to use my rank,” she added.

Teal’c nodded. “Congratulations again on your accomplishment, Samantha Carter.”

"Thanks.” She grinned, basking in the pleasure of scientific accomplishment. Life was so good.

* * *

 

Jack had once again made it his mission to spoil Daniel rotten for his birthday, and Daniel was enjoying every minute of it. Since his birthday fell on a Sunday this year, Jack had started the day with breakfast in bed: blueberry pancakes, crispy bacon, and 100% Kona coffee, which was ridiculously expensive, so much so that even Daniel didn’t buy it. Breakfast had been followed by one of Jack’s excellent foot massages, which led to some highly enjoyable sex. All in all, it was just about noon before Daniel was showered and dressed.

He had plenty of time before Teal’c came over. Their Jaffa friend had grown quite fond of Cold Stone ice cream, and a couple of days ago had asked if Daniel would enjoy an ice cream cake to celebrate the day of his birth. Daniel had no objections whatsoever, so Teal’c arranged to bring an ice cream cake over that afternoon.

Daniel hadn’t even sat all the way down before Zelda was in front of the couch, ready to be petted. He reached down to rub behind her ears, wondering where Jack had gone off to.

He heard the slightly muted sound of his phone ringing from the bedroom. Zelda, annoyed that her petting stopped before it really got started, attempted to block him from standing up, but failed and ended up following him to the bedroom.

_Sam – Cell_ , the screen on his phone informed him. “Hi Sam.”

“Happy birthday, Daniel!”

“Thanks,” he said, heading back out to the living room. The bedroom occupied a small pocket where cell phone reception had a tendency to fade in and out, generally at the least opportune moment. “It’s been great so far. I got breakfast in bed.”

“We’ll go out when I get back,” she promised. “Triple-layer chocolate raspberry cake, on me.” That meant Sam was taking him for the good stuff at their favorite, if extravagant, bakery. (Jack always said he could get a whole meal for the price of dessert and coffee, although he never had any problem putting away said desserts.) “Sorry I’m not there to sing to you,” Sam continued. “I thought about doing it over the phone, but the personnel here respect me and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Daniel chuckled as he sprawled out on the couch. Sam wasn’t a good singer by any stretch of the imagination, but at least she had a sense of humor about it. “I’ll try to live with the disappointment. How’s it going out there?”

“Great. We’re just working out how to mass-produce the new zats. I’ll only be here a couple more days.”

“That is going well.” She’d planned to be away longer.

“I have to do a press conference next month,” Sam informed him, less than thrilled.

“You’ll be great.”

“I’ve never done a press conference.”

Daniel reasoned, “It’s probably a lot like a briefing.”

“With a lot more cameras.” There was no denying that. And Daniel suspected Eddie would be TiVoing the appearance for posterity. Eddie was thrilled and proud that the world was finally getting a glimpse of how smart Sam was. (Jack understood this implicitly, which had potentially worrisome consequences for Daniel when the program went public and Jack could brag.)

“And less people who appreciate the name,” he added.

Sam chuckled. “Late nights, lots of coffee… you know how it goes. Sorry, Daniel, I’ve got to run. We’re moving ahead of schedule, but it’s keeping me busy.”

“Of course. Thanks for calling, Sam.”

“What’s the point of being on Earth if you can’t call for your friend’s birthday? Enjoy the rest of it.”

“I will.”

“Bye Daniel.”

“Bye.” He snapped the phone shut, making a note to himself to ask Sam if ‘zero-point atomizing technology’ actually meant anything.

“Ready for your present?” asked Jack, wandering into the living room.

“Yes.”

“C’mon.” His partner held out his hand, and Daniel allowed himself to be pulled up. “Close your eyes.”

Jack was clearly excited, so Daniel closed his eyes without a fuss and let Jack lead him out the back door onto the porch. Zelda followed; he could tell by the clicking of her toenails on the floor. “Okay, you can look now,” said Jack.

“Jack!”

The excited smile had turned into a full-blown Jack O’Neill grin. “Like it?”

“It’s beautiful!”

Standing on the porch was a solid, clearly well-constructed wooden bookcase. Now, he appreciated a good bookcase generally, but this one was spectacular because of the sides. Daniel walked around so he could appreciate both of them. Each side had half of the glyphs on Earth’s stargate, perfectly inlaid and standing out because the wood used for those was lighter. 

“Oak and cherry,” Jack explained. “Should last forever.”

“How did you manage this?”

“Sergeant Garren made it. Overheard a conversation one day about a coffee table he made for Zimmerman’s wedding gift. I asked if he took commissions.”

“Garren…” Daniel tried to place the name.

“One of Siler’s men.”

He would have to track down Sergeant Garren and compliment his beautiful work. And it was exquisite work indeed, with seams barely visible or noticeable to the touch.

“Thank you, cariad.” Jack had obviously put a great deal of thought – not to mention money – into this perfect gift.

While he was still admiring the bookcase, Jack came over and enveloped him in a hug from behind. “Happy birthday, Daniel.”

Daniel felt so cherished, his birthday couldn’t be anything but happy.

* * *

 

Jack’s desk was covered with personnel files while he considered candidates for his two empty SG team slots. Captain Nivens had reluctantly asked if he might leave SG-8 for an Earthbound position. Evidently his wife had left him and their twins. (Jack could never understand how any parent could simply abandon their children, but that was beside the point.) Nivens felt that as a single parent his priorities had to change, and he requested a safer assignment. This was a shame, but under the circumstances Jack couldn’t fault Nivens for wanting to stay alive and have more regular hours. He was assigning Nivens to base security. The captain had a lot of contingency plan writing in his future. It seemed that every third person in Washington wanted a new and improved contingency plan, so Jack figured it was about time base security had someone with offworld experience.

Major Bareille was being transferred to _Challenger_ , sister ship of _Prometheus_ , so SG-24 now needed a new engineer. Jack had solicited advice from Carter, but Bareille was an exceptional engineer and losing her was a disappointment, if not an entirely unexpected one.

The familiar klaxon went off and Jack was headed to the gate room before the “Unscheduled offworld activation” announcement. As he entered the gate room, Harriman said, “It’s SG-27.”

They waited for a good thirty seconds, and then a huge clear ball came through the gate. It looked to Jack like a human-sized hamster ball. Major Ashburn, Captain Singh, and their gear came rolling down the ramp until they were stopped by SFs. That was going to leave bruises.

“Major?” he asked.

There was a door on the ball but no air vents, so Ashburn’s voice was a bit muffled. “Apparently we were a contaminating influence, sir. Our weapons tainted the peaceful aura of the site.”

Jack waved to a couple of SFs. “Get them out of there.”

Commander Evans and Julia MacDonald came rolling down before the gate disengaged. “Ouch,” said MacDonald. “I can feel a black eye coming on.”

“Those planet was weird as, sir,” reported Evans. Jack had learned to stop expecting Evans to finish his comparisons – crazy as, cold as, sour as, and so on. He assumed this phrasing was normal Australian speak. “Half the animals were Siamese twins, the grass was bright blue, and the people seem to have trouble with the difference between humans and gerbils.”

Singh and Ashburn came crawling out of their ball in a cloud of fumes. “That rank smell is the ritual smoke,” explained Ashburn. “I’m not sure if they were trying to purify us or punish us.”

“Purify,” insisted MacDonald. “We desecrated their sacred site by bringing the potential for violence.” As she spoke, SFs were easing their ball over to get the door on the side.

“We’ll debrief after Brightman checks you out,” Jack informed his battered team. “And you shower.” At least none of them looked too hideously injured. Evans had a scratch across his forehead, and Singh’s thumb was pointing out at an awkward angle, but they all left the gate room under their own power.

Jack eyed the hamster balls, from which SFs were retrieving SG-27’s gear. This was a story worth filing away to tell Hammond. You just never knew what crazy ideas people would come up with.

* * *

 

O’Neill had declared the weather so perfect that not having a barbeque would be a crime. Teal’c understood that the exaggeration was not meant to be taken literally, but he had never truly grasped the Tau’ri concept of hyperbole. It was technically lying, and he did not approve. This opinion, however, he had long since learned to keep to himself. Moreover, O’Neill consistently produced excellent steak when he barbequed, so Teal’c was quite pleased when he was invited for the meal.

Samantha Carter had arrived with a bag, which she presented to Daniel Jackson. Once the archaeologist finished slicing watermelon, he opened the bag and examined its contents. “Uh, Sam, I said we’d take a couple zucchini, not,” he paused for a moment to count, “eight.”

“They’re your problem now,” she replied. “Besides, eight is a couple in zucchini numbers.”

“Your garden is producing prodigiously,” Teal’c said. She’d brought him cucumbers two days earlier. Her previous concerns about ‘rusty’ gardening skills were evidently unfounded.

“Not the zucchini,” said O’Neill as he returned from the porch.

“Lots of it,” Daniel Jackson informed him.

Samantha Carter refused to look guilty, despite O’Neill’s glare. “It’s strictly a one-way trip from my place.”

“Maybe next year you should cut back on the zucchini a little, hon,” suggested Eddie Hallowell.

“Maybe,” she conceded.

They moved out to the porch to enjoy the summer evening. O’Neill placed the steaks on the grill with careful deliberation, creating the sizzling noise Teal’c had come to associate with the promise of a delicious meal. As usual, Zelda was also highly interested in the proceedings. Canines all over the galaxy were preoccupied with food. Teal’c suspected it was a universal constant.

“I am purchasing a vehicle,” he announced.

His declaration got the attention of his friends. Daniel Jackson and Eddie Hallowell abandoned their discussion of the shortcomings of the American Congress. The former asked, “What kind are you thinking about?”

“Lieutenant Bryce wishes to sell his current vehicle. He and his wife are expecting a child, so he believes four doors are now a necessity.”

“So, what is it?” asked O’Neill, dividing his attention between the conversation and the steaks.

“A 2003 Subaru Impreza.”

“Foreign,” muttered O’Neill.

Samantha Carter ignored O’Neill and said, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“What color?” asked Daniel Jackson.

“Green.”

O’Neill brushed more marinade on the steaks. “Tired of relying on the motor pool?”

“It is not always convenient.” Teal’c had been given a great deal of latitude regarding personal use of Air Force vehicles, but he wanted more independence.

“You never forget your first car,” mused Eddie Hallowell.

“I loved mine,” said Samantha Carter. “It was a red ’79 Camaro.”

“Mine first care was a Camaro too.” Daniel Jackson leaned over for a handful of chips before adding, “It was white though.”

“’62 Ford Falcon, blue,” O’Neill said. Evidently he had been a Ford customer as long as he had been a car owner.

“I got my grandfather’s old ’78 LeSabre.” Eddie Hallowell smiled as he remembered the car. “It was a hideous brown, but I never got around to repainting it.”

Teal’c had not known that the Tau’ri were so attached to their first vehicles. A vehicle, after all, was an inanimate object, nothing more than a tool. He had learned over the years, however, that his Tau’ri friends often had an illogical fondness for certain inanimate objects. O’Neill, for instance, had once lamented the destruction of his favorite P-90.

However, O’Neill also had a favorite set of grilling implements, and Teal’c could not argue about the quality of steaks they produced, so he was content to accept this mystery.


	5. Part V

Jack was jolted awake at oh-dark-thirty by the phone ringing. The landline, which was odd because if there was a middle-of-the-night crisis SGC called his cell phone. “O’Neill,” he muttered, trying to sound conscious.

“Jack.” Woah, hadn’t been expecting that. Sara sounded afraid. “Is there any reason why someone would steal Charlie’s baby teeth?”

“I’m gonna kill the bastards!” he growled. Next to him, Daniel jumped into a sitting position.

“That’s a yes, then.”

The Trust fuckers (who else could it be but them?) were going to rue the day they’d decided on this. He would see to it personally. He didn’t care if he had to call Thor – hey, he was pretty sure Thor still owed him a few favors. But first he had to assess the immediate damage. “Are you okay?” he asked Sara.

“We’re fine. Alan… he had a feeling. He had a new alarm system installed two days ago. The police are here. They caught the guys. And Charlie’s teeth.” Two days. Must’ve been between when the bastards scoped the place and did the deed; they weren’t counting on the new security. Sara had herself a husband with great instincts.

“I’m on my way.” He jumped out of bed, glad the phone was cordless as he pulled on pants. Daniel was up and dressing without even knowing what was going on. “Along with SFs. Tell the officers this is a matter of national security, and the Air Force is going to handle it. Don’t worry, they’ll get their official orders.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry, Sara.” Sorry that even after all this time, he still caused her pain. As if she hadn’t suffered enough because of him.

He didn’t know if the Trust had picked Sara because she was an easier target, because she had more of Charlie’s things, or both. He suspected both, though. It would be easier to get DNA from baby teeth than a baseball mitt, but SGC had also fitted his and Daniel’s house out with top-of-the-line, a-little-help-from-Thor security.

“Not your fault.” Sara calmly gave him her address before they hung up.

“Jack?” asked Daniel.

“Sara’s husband has damn good instincts. He just had a new alarm system installed. Caught the bastards trying to steal Charlie’s baby teeth. Gotta make some calls now.”

Daniel drove so Jack could spend the ride on the phone, first with the SGC, then with the highest-ranking police officer he could get a hold of, then with the SGC again because the Trust was going down and he needed every scrap of information he could get. They were almost at Sara’s house before he got off the phone.

“Presuming this was the Trust,” said Daniel, “and they want technology, I can only think of one thing they wanted.”

“They want the Ancient gene. And since they couldn’t get to me...” he swallowed hard. It was good that the Trust wasn’t in a position to get his DNA, he knew, but at that moment he was having a hard time keeping that in his mind.

“I think it’s safe to assume a certain level of personal animosity as well,” added Daniel.

“There sure as hell is now,” he growled. “I’m gonna tear the fucking Trust apart for this.”

There was a line, and they’d crossed it. They were not getting away with dragging Charlie into their treason. Not as long as Jack was still breathing.

* * *

 

Jack was raging inside, Daniel knew. Oh, he was handling this professionally, directing the SFs, following protocol for taking over a civilian arrest. He was, in short, doing his job. The anger was just delayed.

If there was anything or anyone approaching sacred to Jack, it was Charlie. To draw his son into the sordid dealings of the Trust was the ultimate worst that despicable organization could do. And it would be their downfall, Daniel was certain. Jack wouldn’t rest until the Trust ceased to exist. (Along with most of its members, if Jack had his preference.)

At last, the police and SFs were gone. Jack handed the little box with Charlie’s baby teeth back to Sara. “They’ll pay for this,” he informed her.

“What the hell was this about?” demanded Alan. He’d been quietly stewing for some time.

Jack replied, “It’s a matter of national security.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I can’t answer that,” said Jack.

“My house gets broken into, my kids are freaked out, someone is deliberately hurting my wife and I don’t get the courtesy of a straight answer?”

Daniel had to admit that he saw Alan’s point. It wasn’t fair. But life rarely was.

Jack shook his head. “All I can say is, you’ve got a good gut instinct.”

“That’s well and good, but-”

Sara said quietly, “Jack, a word?”

He nodded, but then his phone rang. “I…” he checked the phone, “hell, the Pentagon already?”

Daniel touched his shoulder briefly, offering. Jack nodded and went outside to deal with the Pentagon.

Turning to Alan, Daniel said, “I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to leave.”

The man was understandably annoyed, but relented. “As long as Sara is satisfied with your answers,” he muttered.

Daniel nodded and followed Sara through the house. There were a few chairs on the back porch, but she didn’t sit so he made no move to. “How much did Jack tell you before?” he asked.

“He travels to other planets. And that creature… whatever it was, wasn’t from Earth. But it wasn’t bad, just… confused.” She sighed. “He wasn’t really supposed to say, was he?”

“No,” admitted Daniel. “But you had a right to know. General Hammond probably gave some sort of approval. Or at least didn’t ask.”

“Were these aliens?”

“No. They’re human, at least, we’re pretty sure they are.” He leaned against the railing, gathering his thoughts. “There are a lot of amazing things out there. Technologies you can’t even imagine. There’s an organization that wants to profit from the technologies.” That sounded much more innocuous than the Trust really was, because the group was a weird fusion of cutthroat businessmen and fanatical warmongers who evidently wanted to control the known universe, but he couldn’t get into that.

“But why me? Why Charlie?”

“DNA,” he said, wondering how much he should say. “They wanted Charlie’s DNA, because it’s half Jack’s, but they can’t get to him. Which is actually a very good thing; it means they’re already less powerful. Of course, Jack won’t rest until they’re all in jail. Not after this.”

“It’s personal,” ventured Sara. “But it’s more than that.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “Jack has a rare gene, and they want access to it.”

“And this is where the explanation stops, isn’t it?” Clearly, Sara had experience with this kind of conversation.

“I’m afraid so.”

She nodded slowly. “I can live with that.”

Daniel allowed himself a second to savor the relief that she wasn’t going to push him. She should’ve heard this from Jack, really. But he had to make sure the Trust was history. Not just because it was his job, but because they had tried to use Charlie to further their evildoing.

As for Daniel, he could help professionally, researching and trying to make connections. But what Jack was really going to need him for was moral support, because once Jack let this incident really sink in, it was going to hit him hard.

* * *

  


Jack had been planning on a more active role in bringing down the Trust. That process was coming along alright. The thugs who broke into Sara’s house were hired muscle and only too eager to cough up their contact to save their own sorry necks. Their contact, a scum-sucking Silicon Valley executive assistant, was currently being grilled by the Air Force and the CIA. Regrettably, without Jack’s personal involvement. On this assistant’s information, three Trust members had already been rounded up, with more to follow.

It was a couple of hours early to leave, but he’d been on duty for twelve hours, so calling it a day was more than fair. Anyway, he was about to lose it and it was best all around if he did that off base.

They’d gone straight to the mountain from Sara’s place, so he only hoped Daniel was as ready to leave as he was. Daniel had spent the morning putting his research skills to work looking into the Trust, spending several hours before reluctantly conceding he still had translations needing his attention.

“Daniel?” asked Jack, strolling into his lover’s office.

Daniel, bless him, stopped his translation and started packing up his laptop then and there. “Home?”

“That’s the idea.”

They made it as far as Daniel’s car before the strained edges of Jack’s control snapped. He’d been working, focusing on his job and bringing down the Trust. Now he could just be Jack – not the general, or director, the man who was supposed to have the answers and keep everything under control.

“The first tooth he lost,” he began, “Charlie spent most of the day wiggling it. It was a rainy Saturday, and he built a Lego house with one hand and wiggled his tooth with the other.”

Jack had been home for that, and he was grateful. There were moments he had missed, like any other military parent. He had been away for his son’s first steps, first Happy Meal, and first day of school. But he treasured every memory of Charlie, and everything he had been there for, from his birth to school plays to his first Little League game. And the last Little League game. Charlie had hit a home run into the woods and nobody could find the ball. Two days after he died, Jack spent three hours in the rain finding that baseball. He still had it, and kept it in Charlie’s mitt.

“He was so excited for the Tooth Fairy, it took him forever to fall asleep.” He swallowed hard, remembering Charlie smiling even in his sleep, remembering sliding a fifty-cent piece under the pillow while Sara carefully put the baby tooth in a little wooden box.

For the Trust to take that, trying to pervert it – Jack was so angry he didn’t have words. “It’s probably best I’m not there,” he growled. “I’d kill them, Daniel.”

Daniel didn’t flinch at the statement, which was why Jack could say it in the first place. “No, you wouldn’t. You’d want to, but you wouldn’t.”

Jack wasn’t entirely convinced.

“It’s only a matter of time, anyway,” continued his lover. “Treason is a capital offense.”

“They aren’t all American.” His biggest concern was that some of the Trust members would make it to Brazil. Damn the Brazilians and their lack of extradition treaty. On the other hand, Thor might be able to help with that.

“True,” agreed Daniel. “But I don’t think that’s going to be a problem with some.”

“Not the Chinese guy, no.” Jack had no love for the Chinese government. He did grudgingly have to admit to himself, though, that they were very efficient about rounding up the Chinese businessman named by the Silicon Valley informant. Lately the Chinese had been sucking up, desperately hoping to be given blueprints for the new zat guns. Which wasn’t gonna happen, but it had already gotten the Chinese Trust member arrested for treason. This would probably result in Davis handing over at least a little sensitive information about the Trust to the Chinese, but Jack decided he could live with that.

“Just offer them exile,” suggested Daniel.

“And unleash them on the galaxy?”

Daniel shook his head. “No, no. They’re far too dangerous for that.”

“So what’s your plan?”

“There are a couple of options. P7Y-258.”

He couldn’t think which planet that was. “Refresh my memory.”

“The planet with the gate that won’t dial out.”

Right. Some two years before, they’d had to send _Prometheus_ to pick up SG-2. “It was uninhabited, right?”

“Yes. Or Vilel’hu.”

Vilel’hu was planet with about a thousand taboos. SG-27 had accidentally broken five laws within three minutes of their arrival and all four were promptly sentenced to work on a version of a chain gang. It had taken all of Davis and Daniel’s combined negotiation skills, as well as a peace offering of naquadah, to get SG-27 released. Jack hadn’t planned to ever send anyone to Vilel’hu ever again, but SG-27 had reported that escaping the chain gang hadn’t been possible.

“Not bad ideas,” he said, “but do you really think they’ll fall for it? These are bastards, not idiots.”

“You’ve heard of prison resorts, right?”

“Of course.”

“That’s what these men will imagine as a worse-case scenario. You present them with a long sentence in a maximum-security prison, probably solitary confinement so they can’t talk about the stargate, and I think they’ll jump at exile.”

“P7Y-258 has potential,” he said. “I can suggest it, anyway.”

Daniel nodded and started the car.

“Thanks,” Jack said quietly. It helped his rage a little bit to know they had options to punish the Trust.

* * *

  


This was the second evening in a row they spent at the driving range. Jack being such a physical person, it helped him to have an outlet for his anger. Daniel had never even been to the driving range because his interest in golf was nonexistent. (Well, regular golf. He didn’t mind mini golf, which was particularly entertaining with Teal’c.) The driving range had been his idea, though, after Jack yanked up every weed he could find on their property. He came now just to be there, supporting Jack with his presence.

They were alone at the far end; Jack was so obviously working out anger that nobody took the slots next to them. On the other hand, Daniel had seen some admiring looks when Jack’s balls went flying; clearly some of the other patrons were impressed with the distance his partner was consistently managing.

“Damn,” muttered Jack. “Last ball already.”

Daniel’s own basket was more than half full, so he handed it over. He wasn’t really interested in the driving range anyway.

“Thanks,” said Jack.

Over the years Daniel had learned what Jack needed when faced with a difficult situation. Talking was very low on the list. His partner pretended that he was fine being alone, but in reality Jack needed someone there for him. The key was that he needed someone who knew not to push him to talk. Jack would speak on a touchy subject when he was good and ready, and not a moment before. When Daniel suggested the driving range, he’d gotten a grateful nod. There was no doubt in Daniel’s mind that Jack was envisioning the face of a Trust member on each golf ball he swung at so ferociously.

They were making real progress against the Trust, and Jack was making progress at working through his anger. Cassie had brought Praxa for a visit earlier that evening; Praxa and Zelda got along well, so the three of them took the two dogs for a walk. It was the first time since the Trust break-in that Jack had actually relaxed a bit.

Once Jack sent the last ball sailing out, Daniel stepped in and placed a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Hungry?”

“I could go for a steak.”

Jack could almost always go for a steak, but Daniel opted not to mention that. He just gave a little smile, grabbed the extra club he’d been using, and put it back in Jack’s golf bag. Apparently not in the right spot, because Jack took it out and moved it to the other side.

“This is even better than the weeds,” admitted Jack.

Daniel gave him a quick kiss. The nearest golfer saw them and scowled, but Daniel didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought. It was his responsibility and his privilege to be there for Jack, offering what comfort he could, and Jack was most comforted by tactile gestures. “Come on, cariad. Let’s go get that steak.”

“Do you think O’Malley’s would let us back now?”

“No,” replied Daniel without hesitation. “We were pretty unforgettable.”

“Damn.”

* * *

  


General O’Neill left Paul’s office pleased with the progress being made in the case of the Russian Trust operative. This man, unfortunately, was a Russian Army general and not easy to arrest. On the other hand, his suspicious desire for an impromptu vacation just as fellow Trust members were being arrested had convinced the Russian government to detain him, and Paul had been hard at work making sure he wasn’t released. The Russians didn’t want a trial, but had agreed, if the Air Force provided them with enough proof of their general’s involvement with the Trust, to hand him over for exile on P7Y-258. That agreement had meant O’Neill left in a reasonably good mood. He never expected cooperation from Russians.

Paul had been exceptionally busy working with allied governments to apprehend Trust members. It was nothing short of astounding how O’Neill drove the investigation. Paul knew there was a complex interplay of factors at work, from the structure of the Trust to the evidence already gathered, but to an outsider it would’ve seemed as if the Trust simply collapsed like the proverbial house of cards in the face of Jack O’Neill’s wrath.

And the general was very obviously angry; nobody even approached him without a good reason. He wasn’t less than professional, just giving off a sort of vibe that didn’t encourage any even vaguely personal interaction. The only people who were unbothered by this were, unsurprisingly, the other members of SG-1. Carter, Teal’c, and of course Jackson could be more obvious in their support.

Paul showed his own support in the way which he and O’Neill both understood: by doing his utmost to ensure smooth and coordinated international efforts to find and arrest Trust members. He had been putting in long hours, but not without rewards. The Trust was a threat to the stargate program, the planet, and at their height even the galaxy. His own work helped prevent them from doing any more damage, which was eminently satisfying.

Everyone knew about the attempt to steal O’Neill’s son’s DNA. Word traveled fast in top-secret facilities, and everyone involved in bringing down the Trust was giving it their all. In fact, SGC had a surplus of volunteers for the project. SG-3 had been sent to Greece with a CIA liaison to apprehend a businessman integral to the European Trust, and Paul had never seen Marines so gleefully receive an assignment.

On a private level, Paul was relieved that his relationship with Ray had survived this. Understandably, a lot of men didn’t handle it well when their boyfriend had to work late and cancel a date but couldn’t say a word about why. Ray understood that classified meant he didn’t get to know much about what Paul did. For his part, Paul had learned through experience to say what he could. Even small statements, such as explaining a random French sentence with, “I was dealing with French diplomats most of today,” were helpful. But most of all, Ray was one of those all-too-rare agreeable men who could put up with someone in Paul’s line of work.

In fact, Paul was so pleased with the state of his romantic life, he was willing to forgive O’Neill’s apparent tendency to meddle in the personal affairs of his officers.

There was a knock on his half-open door. “Come in.”

Airman Lewiski entered, holding out a box. “Package for you, Colonel.”

Paul accepted the package. “Thank you, Airman.”

“Sir.”

Lewiski went on his way and Paul cut the tape sealing his box. Excellent. It was a hard-to-find new book on international perceptions of the U.S. military. Paul found that understanding the other person was half the battle in diplomacy, whether he was dealing with allies, hostiles, or those awkward countries that someone at the Pentagon had once called ‘frenemies.’ This new book could give him some valuable insight, and he was a great believer in the power of information.

The book would have to wait until after the business with the Trust, though. Right then he had to hurry up and call the Canadian attaché before the work day ended in Ottawa. Time differences were always complicating Paul’s job.

It occurred to him that maybe not having the Ancient gene was good after all, as he didn’t prefer being the target of treasonous organizations. But then, SG-1 had always excelled at ending up as targets.

* * *

  


Jack had gone to tell Sara that they’d broken the back of the Trust, a task he preferred to do alone. Daniel was working on giving him something nice to come home to. Jack had been relentless for the last week. He might not have been personally involved in reprehending Trust members as he would have liked, but it was Jack’s determination driving the operation and everyone knew it.

All this had brought out the harder parts of Jack. There were only a few Trust members from countries whose governments didn’t know about the stargate, but of course they were the most troublesome. Naturally, they were less than enthusiastic about gating out to P7Y-258, and nobody even mentioned that the gate didn’t dial out. These men – and one woman – were not stupid, and they knew there was going to be some kind of catch. But Jack had been calm. Too calm, to those who knew him well. “You are endangering our operations and the lives of United States military personnel. Your organization abducted Air Force officers. That makes you enemy combatants. And we all know what happens to enemy combatants, right?” He turned, leaving the room before saying over his shoulder, “I’m sure they can make room for you in Guantanamo.”

It was nothing short of astounding how well the Trust members had been rounded up. Paul Davis had outdone himself working with allied governments aware of the stargate, ensuring their cooperation in prosecuting Trust members. A couple of lower-ranking men and women remained at large, but the major players were in custody. Those who weren’t in prison on Earth were trapped on P7Y-258. Jack had even contacted the Tok’ra and left a message for Thor (though when the Asgard would be in range to receive it was anyone’s guess), explaining that the exiled humans were dangerous to galactic stability and not to be rescued.

Daniel knew and accepted Jack’s cold rage. But after all this business with the Trust, he decided they needed a break. Jack was overworked and emotionally wrung out. So Daniel made a nice pasta cabonara, dusted off a bottle of good wine, and got ready to spring a change of plans on his partner.

“How did it go?” he asked when Jack arrived and followed his nose to the kitchen.

“She’s glad we’re bringing down the Trust, and had several choice phrases to describe them.” Jack, predictably, swiped one of the cherry tomatoes from the pile Daniel had halved and was about to add to the pasta. “You don’t like tomatoes,” he informed Zelda, who had been hoping he might share his prize.

The next thing Daniel knew he’d been spun around and was receiving a tomatoey kiss. “Thank you,” said Jack after a minute, resting his forehead against Daniel’s. “I know I haven’t been the easiest person to live with this week.”

“With good reason. Anyway, what kind of partner would I be if I didn’t make a bad week a little easier?”

Jack smiled. “Love you, cariad.”

“I love you too, Jack, but you’re going to have to let me go so we can eat.”

Evidently Jack was hungry, because he let go and went to the cupboard for plates.

“I know we were going to paint the house on leave,” Daniel said without preamble, “but that can wait a couple more months, or we could hire someone. We should go up to the cabin next week.”

Jack nodded. “A break would be good. I could try out those new lures I picked up.” He looked down at Zelda. “Did you feed her yet?”

“No.”

“Come on, girl.” The dog didn’t need to be told twice, and in fact arrived at the closet where her food was stored before Jack did. “I bet you’ll like Minnesota. See, ideas like this are why he’s the brains in the family.”

Daniel rolled his eyes at the last part of Jack’s narration and asked, “Grab the forks?”

“Sure. Wanna leave Saturday morning?”

“Let’s. We need a vacation.”

“Speaking of which,” said Jack while he took forks out of the drawer, “you’re still gonna show me Egypt this fall, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

Jack’s enthusiasm for that trip was heartwarming. He’d never had any real interest in seeing Egypt until Daniel explained that he wanted to show his partner places from his childhood. Jack wasn’t particularly interested in Egyptology unless it directly related to defeating the Goa’uld, but he was eager to learn more about Daniel’s early years.

“Great. Let’s eat.”

Daniel thought it would be a long few days before Saturday rolled around. Then, remembering the unfortunate abundance of mosquitoes from the last summer, it occurred to him that he’d want to make sure they brought Off along this time.

* * *

  


Kelly liked mornings, and unlike most of her friends she didn’t sleep until noon on the weekends. She was sprawled out on a blanket on the back lawn, enjoying the summer morning and reading. Lately she’d been enjoying Arthurian books, and the librarian had recommended _The Mists of Avalon_ , calling it a ‘modern classic.’

Two and a half pages in, she was startled by a banging noise. She stuck her bookmark in place and headed out front to see what was going on.

The neighbors were loading up their truck, and she guessed the banging noise was from the cab being put on. “Hi Jack, Dr. Jackson,” she said.

“Sorry about the noise,” said Jack.

“You might as well call me Daniel,” offered Dr. Jackson.

Jack slid a large duffel bag onto the truck bed. “We’ll be away until next Sunday.”

“We’re bringing Zelda,” added Daniel. Since her dog bed was in the truck Kelly had figured as much.

“Have fun.”

“We always do,” said Jack. “Ever been to Minnesota?”

“No.”

“You should.”

“Jack thinks everyone should visit Minnesota at least once,” explained Daniel as he packed half a bag of dog food into the truck.

“Absolutely.”

“Well, I’d rather go to Paris,” Kelly replied.

“Paris,” said Jack, “is overrated.”

“You’ve been?” She wanted to visit Paris more than anywhere else in the world. She thought she might need a month to take it all in once she finally got there.

“Years ago. I’ll take my cabin in Minnesota any day.”

Kelly found this impossible to imagine.

“How’s the driving?” asked Jack.

“I’m getting better. I drove to the mall yesterday without Mom’s knuckles turning white.” She’d considered that a positive sign for both of them.

“When we get back I’ll take you out on the highway.”

“Really?” She hadn’t even mention highway driving to her mom, mostly out of concern for possible fainting. Honestly, though, the prospect made Kelly a little nervous as well as excited.

“Important driving skills. Besides, if you wait too long, it becomes this big thing in your head and you work yourself up.”

“I think highway driving is easier,” said Daniel. “Jack, did you remember the Off?”

“It’s in my bag.”

“Good. I don’t want a repeat of last time.”

“Why do you think highway driving is easier?” Kelly asked when it seemed they were done discussing bug spray.

“There are less things to look out for,” answered Daniel. “No intersections, stop signs, kids’ balls rolling out, et cetera.”

She had mainly been considering the high speeds when thinking about highway driving, but now that Daniel mentioned it, he had a point. “I hadn’t really thought of it that way.”

Jack picked up another bag and groaned. “Daniel! How many books are you bringing, anyway?”

“Enough.”

“Enough to give me a hernia.” Despite his grumbling, Jack got the bag in just fine.

They’d packed everything which had been on the driveway, so Kelly supposed she’d excuse herself and not hold them up. “Well, I’m going to enjoy the morning before it gets too hot. Enjoy your vacation.”

“Thanks,” said Jack.

Daniel nodded. “Thank you. Good luck with the driving.”

She headed back to her book, flip-flops living up to their name as they hit the heels of her feet. Jack and Daniel had been busy lately; twice in the last week they’d called and asked if she or her mom could feed Zelda and make sure she had enough water. Kelly, who was enjoying what she figured would be her last summer without a job, walked the black lab also. Anyway, the neighbors seemed happy enough to be getting a break from their jobs.

It took several minutes for Kelly to get back to _The Mists of Avalon_ , time she spent imagining (for about the tenth time) what Jack and Daniel might do that was so secretive.

* * *

  


Their week at the cabin, Jack decided, was off to a great start. It was a hot day, just perfect for doing nothing. The pond was warm, but refreshing compared to the hot air. He’d given up fishing that morning. Zelda’s enthusiastic jump off the dock would’ve scared the fish away (though Daniel liked to point out a lack of fish never stopped him fishing.) So he was lazing around, floating on his back in the water. Daniel, not as strong a swimmer, had a gizmo that made a little chair out of netting and a couple of those pool noodles. He said it was easier to relax and was happily suspended in the water for the time being. Sooner rather than later he’d be back on the dock reading, but for now they were both bobbing around in the pond. Zelda was enjoying herself investigating the reedy edges. She seemed to be developing a fascination with frogs.

“I did mention that this was a great idea, right?” he called out.

“Three times,” replied Daniel. “Four, now.”

“Good.”

Daniel had been absolutely right – they needed this vacation, Jack especially. Sara had been right, too; when Jack went to tell her they’d taken down almost all of the Trust, she’d said, “Don’t let your anger rob you of life, Jack.” Jack had always known he was attracted to intelligence, so if both Daniel and Sara thought he needed to step back and enjoy his life, he was inclined to give the idea a shot.

The Trust wasn’t completely eliminated. In time, the members who’d eluded capture (mainly by hiding their identities) could rebuild the organization. Over the years, Jack had learned that there would _always_ be people to fight, and he’d gotten better at accepting the inevitable. Still, both justice and his need for revenge had been served pretty well, and he was actively putting the Trust behind him.

A slight breeze set the leaves rustling, a noise Jack had always found soothing. This was interrupted by a bark from Zelda and Daniel’s immediate laughter. Jack rolled out of his back float and looked from the dog to his boyfriend, trying to figure out what happened.

“A frog jumped up and hit her nose,” explained Daniel, still chuckling.

“They don’t bite,” Jack told Zelda. She turned her attention back to the reeds, wary but curious.

“You’ve been that desperate to catch something, Jack?”

“Very funny, Daniel.”

“I thought so.”

They went back to doing nothing. A family of ducks was swimming across the pond; Zelda was too busy looking for frogs to harass to go harass the ducks. Jack had been thinking of a nice afternoon hike, but the day was only getting hotter so he scratched that idea. Maybe an afternoon nap would be in order instead. And a campfire later, because he wanted some good old-fashioned campfire hot dogs and marshmallows.

“Jack?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you think about getting a canoe?”

He backstroked over to where Daniel had floated. The water was chest-deep there, so he stood and looked at his partner. “You want a canoe?”

Daniel shrugged slightly. “You know I haven’t spent a lot of time around – or in – water. I thought it might be nice. You could fish, I could read. Maybe I’d finally get to see a moose.”

“This pond is a bit small for canoeing,” said Jack, thinking the idea over, “but there are plenty of good places nearby. Sure, we can get a canoe.”

Daniel smiled. “Thanks.”

“Any time, Daniel.”

Jack was not prepared for his lover to lunge up, and they both fell backwards into the water. “That wasn’t what I meant to do,” admitted Daniel once they resurfaced.

“Which was what, exactly?”

When they were both standing, it was much easier for Daniel to lean in and take Jack’s mouth in a kiss. Jack’s arms seemed to settled around Daniel’s waist of their own accord. He loved it when he had all of Daniel’s considerable attention and focus, loved times like this where his lover kissed with everything he had. Whatever else was screwed up in his life, Jack was a happy man so long as he had Daniel to put his whole heart into long kisses and share in the insanity of their lives.


End file.
